


Civil Heart

by TheDemonLedger



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Cheating, Deepthroating, Established Relationship, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Feels, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gratuitous Smut, Long, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Porn with Feelings, Sad, Sex, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Slash, Smut, Tags Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 06:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19223086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDemonLedger/pseuds/TheDemonLedger
Summary: For the first time since waking up from the ice five years ago, Steve is happy and content and in love. But Bucky is in his head, and with the newly introduced Accords, he will stop at nothing to ensure the safety of his once best friend. Even if it means betraying his partner, Tony Stark, to do it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All rights reserved to the respective owners (Disney, Sony, Marvel Studios, and Marvel Comics). I do not own anything. Some content may be inappropriate for those under the age of 18; all tags as noted.  
> This story was originally meant to be a very long oneshot between Tony and Steve. After taking some time to plan out and think over the fic, it looks like it will actually be significantly longer than 10,000 words, which is my oneshot limit. I hope you enjoy what's written so far - I look forward to posting the next piece in a few days.

The morning loomed over them, bright and crisp and altogether too soon after the waning of the night. The sleeping forms of two men stirred gently in the large, clean bed; white sheets draped over them like togas, and an errant foot stuck off one side, exposed to the early air. One of the men threw an arm over his face to block out the rays of bright yellow sunlight, while the other pressed his face further into the soft, pale neck it had already been nuzzled against. Steve Roger lowered his arm and looked at the man pressed against him, a small smile creeping onto his face. A dark, round spot sat just below his collarbone, and he massaged the bruise-like mark gently. He raked the fingers of his free hand down the back of the man beside him, eliciting a soft moan. Tony Stark pushed his head up, staring in protest into the soft blue eyes of the man beside him.

“It’s way too early for that, Cap,” he whispered, moving his mouth closer to the other’s ear. Steve groaned and flipped the smaller man onto his back, hovering above him, hands either side of Tony’s face. Groaning in mock annoyance, Tony slid his fingers down Steve’s chiseled chest and stomach. He moved his hands to Steve’s back and palmed his bare ass greedily. “You do know how to wake me up, though.”

“I like you best in the morning,” Steve teased, leaning forward to rest on his forearms. His eyes softened and he placed a tender kiss on Tony’s forehead, then a more sensual one on his lips. This gleaned Steve the precise reaction he’d been waiting for: an open mouthed moan as Tony rutted his hips against Steve’s in surprise. He used the opportunity to push his tongue into Tony’s mouth, swirling it. Tony’s hands wrapped around Steve’s shapely form; the two men’s half-hard cocks rubbed together, and it was Steve who moaned in response now, curling his fists into the sheets on either side of Tony’s head.

“Fuck,” said Tony, voice hoarse. He moved his head to the side, allowing Steve to kiss and lick and nipped down his stubbled jaw and onto his exposed neck and throat. “Fuck, keep doing that,” he said as he thrust again against Steve’s hips, basking in the glorious sensation of his hard-on against Steve’s hard-on. The blonde groaned in compliance, moving in time with Tony’s thrusts, feeling the slick pre-cum beginning to leak from the tip of his painfully hard cock. Silence, interrupted only by soft, low moans or the chaste whisper of the other’s name, fell between them. Steve petted Tony’s sweat soaked hair back from his forehead, looking into his dark eyes. His heart jumped a little in his chest, and he could feel an orgasm building in his balls. Tony’s fingers curled, nails digging painfully hard into Steve’s bare back when a knock interrupted their quiet intimacy. Steve groaned and let his head fall against Tony’s neck.

“Who is it?” Steve called, trying to catch his breath.

“It’s Nat,” came Natasha’s voice from the other side of the door. Tony groaned quietly, letting his arms fall dejectedly onto the bed. Steve clambered off him, grabbing a pair of dark sweatpants from the floor beside where Tony lay. “Sorry if I woke you, Steve,” she continued, then paused, seemingly waiting for a reply. “Uh, can I come in?”

“Just a sec,” Steve said, pulling the sweats on over his erection, which he palmed slightly. He jogged to the door and opened it a few inches. “What’s up, Nat?”

Natasha looked at him, then tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear and tried to look past him into the room. “Do you know where Tony is?” Steve glanced back at Tony, who laid now on his side, the blanket draped elegantly across his thin frame. He pushed the door open a little more at the look of indignation on Tony’s face, letting Natasha see past his arm and into the room. “Oh.” She blushed. “Tony,” she continued after a moment, in which Tony laughed with Steve. “Vision is wondering if you’ll be ready for that meeting soon. Some sort of…” She shrugged and crossed her arms uncomfortably across her chest, then looked expectantly at the two men.

“Crap, is that this morning?” asked Tony, sitting up onto his elbow. “Yeah, can you tell Vision I’ll be ready in say, fifteen, twenty minutes?” Natasha nodded. Steve smiled at her.

“Don’t mention this to anyone, yeah?” he asked her quietly. She nodded and turned. “And Nat?” Turning back, Natasha nodded once more, then grunted in affirmation. “Thanks.” Nat smiled.

“Of course, Steve,” she said, then turned the corner and walked away. Steve closed the door and turned back to the bed. Tony was sitting on the edge of it, rubbing his eyes and stretching, legs hanging off but feet not touching the floor.

“Hey,” said Steve, who crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. Tony looked at him, and watched as Steve’s eyes raked over his naked body.

“Hey,” replied Tony, who smiled and mussed his hair. Steve started forward. “No, no you don’t-” Tony said, standing. Steve stood before him now, looking down at him lustfully. “I have a meeting to get to and only twenty minutes to get there.”

“So, you’re late,” Steve whispered, shrugging and pulling Tony in close. Tony glowered at him.

“Now, when exactly did you start breaking rules?”

“Well,” Steve said, wrapping his hand around the back of Tony’s neck. “I wouldn’t say it was rules I was so strict about.” He pressed a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “More like,” then one to his nose, “goodness.” Steve skipped over Tony’s lips and went straight for his neck, moving down his chest, until the taller man was kneeling in front of him. He wrapped one long-fingered hand around Tony’s still semi-hard cock, giving it a firm stroke before wrapping his lips around the head and laving it with his tongue. Tony leant backwards, using the bed as support; he put a hand to the back of Steve’s head without conscious thought, curling his fingers into the mop of dirty-blond hair there. His eyelids fluttered shut as Steve leaned forward to take the whole of him into his mouth, circling his tongue slowly and languidly around the shaft.

“I-” Tony stuttered, “I see now.” Steve chuckled, the sound sending vibrations up Tony’s dick and straight into his balls. The tight grip on the base of his shaft combined with the hot, wet feeling of Steve’s mouth brought Tony close again, and quickly. Looking up at Tony, Steve saw half-lidded gaze staring him down; he sucked his cheeks in, looking at Tony with an air of mischief, and bobbed his head fast up and down the length of the cock. He gagged slightly, and tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, but he continued until Tony let out a guttural cry. Hot, thick jets of cum pumped into Steve’s mouth, which he took in greedily. With a soft ‘pop’, Steve released Tony’s member from his mouth, licking the tip once more for good measure. Tony breathed heavily and released Steve’s hair, causing the blond to wince a little at the sensation. “Sorry,” whispered Tony breathlessly. Steve shook his head.

“Nice?” asked Steve, smiling up at the other man. Tony nodded, closing his eyes, a faint smile crossing his prematurely lined face. Tony’s hand went to Steve’s cheek as they both stood straight, and he pressed up to kiss Steve’s mouth.

“I should get going,” replied Tony, stepping back to look at Steve a little sadly. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. Steve shrugged.

“I figured,” he replied, “just wanted you to have something nice to remember me by.” He winked. “That way, you’ll keep coming back.”

“I’ll always keep coming back,” replied Tony quietly. He gathered his clothes off the floor, scattered from the night before. “Even if you don’t blow me, effectively making me late for a meeting, I’ll always come back, Steve.” There was a pause, pregnant with unsaid words, which neither of them knew how to fill. Tony stopped looking for his second sock and stared at Steve; Steve willed Tony to say something, anything. “You’re good to me,” was all Tony was able to say. He stepped awkwardly into his boxers and drew them up to his hips. Steve closed his eyes as a soft kiss was placed on his cheek, and Tony moved away from him; he heard the bathroom door close, and reached up to massage the hickey on his chest again.

“I love you, Tony Stark,” he whispered, too late for Tony to hear.

#

The meeting with Vision lasted most of the day, with Steve registering only bits and pieces of the conversation. That was the problem with living and working in the same place all the time -  you were bound to wind up in meetings you neither understood nor cared to be at. Steve knew he wasn’t stupid by any stretch, but there were things he’d never learned and wouldn’t understand in passing. Vision was one of those things. But he liked watching Tony talk: he liked the movements of his hands and the way he drew his mouth up when he was thinking. Once, unthinkingly, he kicked out and caught Tony’s leg with his own while he was speaking, producing a surprised gasp from the scientist. Natasha caught Steve’s eye then and pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. She ushered him away then, to talk about news and things they both understood.

“How long has this been going on?” she asked as she spread peanut butter across a slice of white bread.

“Mmm,” Steve pondered the question for a moment, “probably six, seven months. Not too long,”  Steve replied before biting into his own peanut butter sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed. “Too long for him, though, I think.”

“Why do you say that?” Nat looked at him, biting into her bread and frowning.

“It was awkward this morning,” he explained. “After you left, sort of tense.”

“Do you think, maybe, it was because I interrupted?” she waited for Steve to respond, but when he didn’t, continued on. “I think you’re overthinking this. It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anyone, Steve. And I don’t just mean ‘cause you were iced.”

“Right,” he said slowly, considering her words.

“You’ve been alone since you woke up six years ago, Steve,” Natasha frowned. “That’s a long time for anyone.” He nodded.

“Nat,” he paused, choosing his next words carefully. “I think I might… you know.”

Natasha raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, I know.” she reached forward and took his hand. “It’s okay to love someone, Steve Rogers.” She took another bite of her sandwich. “Finish eating so we can go back to that meeting.” Steve smiled and they ate.

#

It was later when he and Tony were able to be alone again. The compound was rarely quiet at night: Natasha couldn’t sleep most nights with Bruce gone, so she’d stay up in the sitting room playing music and drinking while others shuffled in and out to say their hellos and goodnights. Sometimes Steve would join her. Now, however, Steve stood on his balcony, looking over the long field that spanned for acres away from the facility. He leant forward, winding his fingers together and resting his elbows on the railing as he watched the sun continue to set over the treeline far in the distance. The door slid open and closed behind him, and Tony leaned against the railing beside him, looking in towards the bedroom they commonly shared. Silence fell between them for a while, comfortable and adequate. Tony brushed his finger back and forth on Steve’s arm as he swirled an amber liquid in a squat, square tumbler. Finally, after what could have been days, Tony looked at him.

“I heard you this morning,” he said, draining his glass. He straightened and moved to set it on the table just beside the door, then resumed his spot against the rail.

“What?” asked Steve. His heart rate picked up, and he glanced at the dark-haired man beside him. Tony’s eyes were scanning his face, quietly taking in his confusion and alarm.

“When you said,” Tony paused, then turned fully to look at Steve, leaning with one elbow against the railing, his fingers laced together over his chest. “When you said you love me?” Tony asked, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Tony blush while speaking. It was just unlike him, so confident was he in everything he said and did. Tony frowned and prodded him with one finger, jolting Steve from his silent contemplation of Tony’s reddening face.

“I may have,” Steve replied, swallowing hard. “What of it?”

“I just,” Tony turned back to face the bedroom again, not looking at Steve. “I just wanted to know if you did. Say that.”

Steve took a long breath, releasing it slowly as he looked at the asphalt below him, contemplating how badly it would hurt to jump the three stories down. He could run into the woods - Tony would never be able to get to the lab and get his suit on fast enough to find him. He could hide for years. What was he thinking, listening to Nat? When had she ever loved someone and done anything about it, other than drive their only other competent scientist away, maybe permanently? Steve shook himself off; the mean, cold thoughts he was having had nothing to do with Natasha, and he knew they were unfair and unfounded. He felt embarrassed, and as a blush crept up over his face, he sniffed, trying to push away the tears he knew would come.

“Hey,” Tony said, poking him again. “Answer me, please.”

“I did,” replied Steve, gritting his teeth as the words escaped him too quickly. He took a breath. “Say that.” he leaned backwards, wrapping his hands around the railing, not looking at Tony. He wasn’t sure he could stand the surprise or resentment he was sure was there. The silence that fell between them now was an uncomfortable one, in which Steve shifted back and forth, still contemplating running away from a situation he hadn’t expected himself to be in.

“Steve,” Tony’s mouth forming Steve’s name was almost too much for him, and he squinted to keep tears from forming. He wouldn’t cry - not in front of Tony.

Tony looked at the taller man, watching the strained expression cross Steve’s soft, beautiful face. The blue eyes scanned the grasses far beyond the edge of the building; his tall frame leaned back gently, hands gripping the exterior railing. Tony wasn’t sure what to say to him. To repeat the words out of obligation wouldn’t make Steve aware of the depth of Tony’s feelings for him, but Tony wasn’t sure what words to use in the first place, let alone articulate them to Steve Rogers. He still couldn't believe he was sleeping with Captain America - that the man he’d grown to… know, and care for, was letting him into his bed at night, was watching him with that steely gaze now. Tony swallowed hard against the lump beginning to form in his throat.

“I don’t know what to say,” Tony whispered. Steve nodded and looked away again. “I care for you, you have to know that.”

“I do,” Steve replied. he took a deep breath and turned to face Tony, reaching out to wind two fingers on either hand through the belt loops on either side of Tony’s skinny hips. He shook his head, and his lips twitched up into a half-hearted smile. “I didn’t even know you were going to hear me when I said it.” He leaned forward to kiss just below Tony’s dark hair line. The slighter man’s eyes fluttered shut and he sighed contentedly, both hands against the broad chest before him. He leaned his forehead against Steve’s chin, resting there. Steve’s breath fluttered his hair. He felt at home.

Tony had never truly felt at ease in his life. After the death of his parents, he’d been searching for some deeper meaning, but he’d always been afraid of something. Since his kidnapping in Afghanistan and the Arc Reactor, he wasn’t sure what to think anymore. Even without the shrapnel in his chest, and the unnecessity of the technology there, he felt aware, always, of his humanity - of his ability to die suddenly, and without warning; between the deaths in his life and the number of times he’d almost died fighting beside the same man who held him now, he felt unsure. Even in this moment, there was a battle raging inside him. How could he say ‘I love you’ to Steve when he’d never said it to anyone before? He frowned and pushed away from Steve, anxiety twisting in his stomach. “I’ve never said that to anyone before,” he said, voicing his inner turmoil.

“Said what?” Steve looked confused. Tony stared at him, brows knitted tightly together, and breathed out sharply through his nose. Steve’s hands were still on Tony’s hips, fingers laced through belt-loops. The concern on Steve’s face was too much for Tony to bear looking at; he looked out toward the treeline. The sun was fully set behind it now, and the wind whipping up from the forest was cold and harsh; it brought Tony back to the moment, clearing his head. He wrapped his arms around himself for warmth, watching the tips of the evergreens sway back and forth in the breeze. Patient to a fault, Steve waited for Tony to speak, even as the other bit his lip and scratched his stubbled chin.

“I’ve never told anyone I love them,” Tony clarified finally, avoiding Steve’s gaze. He clutched at the loose fabric of Steves button-down, staring at the pearlescent buttons. Steve felt surprised.

“What about-”

“No one, Steve.” Tony shook his head, finally meeting Steve’s gaze. The blue eyes searched the brown as Tony hesitated. “Not even Pepper.” Steve readied himself for the blow as Tony shook his head again and laughed, stepping away from Steve’s grip. He turned to face the railing, looking out into the darkened sky. Tony let out a deep breath and then, without looking at Steve, spoke. “I love you, though.” A shock ran through Steve. He thought he might faint. He stared at Tony, open mouthed.

“What?” Steve said after a long time.

“Lord,” said Tony, laughing. He reached forward and gripped the man about the waist, "how much clearer should I make it. Do you want me to get it in writing - maybe even in the sky?”

“No, I just-” Steve shook his head and grinned, heart soaring in elation. “Tony Stark, that’s the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Tony smiled.

“Well, I do,” Tony pushed up on tiptoe to kiss him. “I love you, Steve Rogers.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> If you like what you read here and want to stay updated, subscribe to this story.  
> If you want to stay updated on what I'm writing this summer, subscribe to me.  
> Have an excellent day! -Olive


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sokovia Accords are introduced, and Steve becomes confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple notes before we begin.  
> 1\. I decided this is AU - Canon Divergence, so I've taken a few liberties with the progression of the storyline. That's in part because I have a non-canon, established relationship and also in part because I haven't seen Winter Soldier or Civil War more than once and they're sort of expensive to watch.  
> 2\. This chapter starts IMMEDIATELY with NSFW content, so be aware. 
> 
> Tags for this chapter up top, please, please, enjoy reading, and have a fantastic rest of your day!

They barely made it to the bedroom before they started stripping off clothes. Tony pushed Steve down onto the bed, determined to pay him back for that morning's treatment, then clambered onto the bed, sitting between his outstretched legs. Steve looked through half-lidded eyes at Tony, whose hands were trailing down the toned stomach to the line of his briefs; one hand came to rest gently on the already semi-hard member encased by the soft, poly-cotton blend. He palmed Steve’s cock briefly before pulling the underwear off roughly. Steve’s moan as the fabric brushed against his sensitive dick made Tony’s hard-on twitch with excitement. There was no use waiting: Tony wrapped his thin fingers around Steve’s engorged cock and pulled gently, stroking to elicit soft, low sounds from Steve. His tongue flicked the head of Steve’s cock, licking up the light pre-cum that seeped from the tip. Tony heard the other man hiss in response, and Steve’s hand went to grip the back of Tony’s head.

“Tony, please,” he begged, hips thrusting lightly against Tony’s hand and lips. Tony chuckled and looked up at his desperate partner. Steve’s face was flushed, his free hand fisted in the sheets beside him. He slowed his gentle stroking of Steve’s cock, watching as he struggled to regain composure; Steve lifted his head off the bed and looked at Tony, eyes full of longing. “Please,” he repeated. Tony complied and pressed his tongue firmly against the base of Steve’s shaft, dragging it slowly and sensually up the long member before wrapping his mouth around the tip and sliding down the length until he gagged. Steve groaned at the sensation as Tony swallowed hard around the tip of his cock, gagging once more before releasing it. “Fuck,” said Steve through gritted teeth, hand still pressed to the back of Tony’s head. With a fervor that Steve hadn’t felt before, Tony rammed Steve’s dick down his throat, sucking noisily, moaning. He watched the slighter man’s hand go between his legs, to his still clothed privates, where Tony pressed and pulled with his free hand, eliciting grunts of pleasure. Steve felt his balls growing tight, especially as Tony’s pressure and swiftness increased. “Tony- fucking- Lord almighty-” the words escaped him jaggedly, through forced breaths.

Tony lifted his head, continuing to stroke up and down Steve’s erection reverently. Tony watched him twitch as his pace crawled to almost torturous slowness, and chuckled as he kissed and licked his way up Steve’s body. Laying opposite their position from the morning, Tony pressed a soft kiss lightly to Steve’s mouth, then his chin and over his stubbled jaw, to his neck, where he sucked the skin hard. Steve moaned again, feeling his dick twitch in pleasure. He grabbed Tony’s hips and palmed over his clothed ass, pulling him down so he could grind against his hard-on, receiving a low, sharp moan.

“Shit,” said Tony, pushing onto his knees. He pushed his boxers down, letting his erection bounce out of the tight fabric, moaning a little as it did so. “God, do you see what you do to me?” Steve nodded, eyes wide in awe.

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, sitting up to run his hand down Tony’s lean frame. Tony’s head lolled back on his shoulders, and he reveled in the sensation of Steve’s hand on his overheated skin. “Fuck me, Tony?” Steve’s voice was barely a whisper, but loud enough for Tony to look at him, glancing down to the blue eyes and blond-haired wonderment that sat before him, splayed out for his taking. He nodded and slid carefully off the bed, stepping out of his boxers and pulling open the nightstand drawer. From within it, he pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom, setting the latter carefully down on the bed. Steve leaned forward, hand outstretched, and grabbed Tony by the arm. The brunet gasped in surprise as Steve pulled him onto the bed and crawled over him, so he was straddling Tony’s hips, their erections just rubbing together.

“I thought you-” gasped out Tony, reaching up to card his fingers through Steve’s messy hair, “wanted me to-” Steve kissed him with bruising force, one hand coming behind Tony’s neck to support his head as he sought better leverage. Part of Steve wanted this moment to go on forever, like all other moments with Tony, and part of him wanted to impale himself on Tony’s thick, throbbing dick. “Fuck,” said Tony as Steve pulled away, face flushed and lips swollen.

“Yeah, exactly that,” Steve teased, reaching between them to wrap his fingers tightly around both their erections, delaying the moment. Tony’s eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation. “Shit,” Steve breathed. He closed his eyes and rutted into his hand, so heard rather than saw the sound of the lube bottle’s top being snapped open. Opening his eyes, he watched Tony squeeze lube onto his fingers.

“Move back a little so-” he paused, biting his lip, “so I can sit up.” Steve did as he was told, helping Tony move into a sitting position, so they were chest to chest, with Steve’s face pressed into Tony’s soft, product-scented hair. He smelled of sandalwood and cedar, and he gasped in that scent as Tony pressed the cold lube onto his puckered hole, rubbing gently before pushing one long, thin finger in. Steve tipped Tony’s head up by his chin, drawing his lips down to Tony’s and kissing softly through his gasps. The finger in his hole felt too good, and when Tony pulled it out only to push two back in, Steve thought he’d break right there. His weeping cock left soft, wet marks on Tony’s stomach, and he pushed against the fingers as they drove in an out of him. Tony let out a soft moan as Steve rubbed them together again, his broad hand just wide enough to capture both dicks and rub slowly. “You want me, baby?” Tony asked as he pulled away from the prolonged kiss. Steve’s heart jumped at the words, and he moaned in response, unable to speak. “Want me to fuck you?” His fingers curled inside Steve’s ass, then moved apart, scissoring the opening wider.

“God, yes,” Steve replied hoarsely. “Yes.” He released Tony, bearing up over him as the slighter man slid down so his cock met his fingers at Steve’s gaping entrance. Tony grabbed the condom from where he’d so carefully placed it, ripping it open with his teeth. The moment of anticipation filled Steve as he waited for the cold tip of the condom to meet his lubed up hole. Tony squirted another dollop of lube onto his hand and rubbed his cock, the slick wet sounds causing Steve’s ass to tighten with excitement and his cock to twitch. He felt the tip pressing into him, and closed his eyes, choosing to focus on the feeling of Tony’s lips on his chest. He placed his hands on Tony’s shoulders as he lowered gently onto the bed and lifted his knees to get a better angle. The slow, sensuous thrust into Steve made his legs tremble and hands grip so tight his fingernails left crescent moons in Tony’s pale skin. He hissed out a swear as he sat up straight, fully impaling himself on Tony’s long cock; his own bobbed forlornly in front of him, seemingly forgotten.

“Shit, you really are something, Steve,” Tony growled, his hands coming to settle on Steve’s hips. Steve whined, lifting a little before falling back down, his hands placed carefully on Tony’s chest. “Fuck,” Tony whispered.

“God,” Steve moaned, his voice tight and strained. “I just want you to fuck me.” Tony’s eyes rolled back, and he let out a strangled gasp at the words, feeling his cock harden more - if that was even possible. He gripped Steve’s ass, fingertips digging into the taut flesh to lift him, and raised his knees. Steve fell forward, and though he was not a small man, the sight of him clinging to Tony as though his life depended on it made his want to thrust hard and fast into him even greater. Tony dug his heels into the soft mattress for traction and began his steady thrusting. Burying his face into Tony’s neck, Steve let out a soft series of grunts as Tony’s hips slammed against him; the feeling of Tony’s thrusts and the sensation of his cock rubbing against Tony’s well-defined stomach was drawing Steve closer and closer to the edge. With an almighty effort, Steve lifted himself off the bed a little, just to bring his mouth to capture Tony’s; their tongues slid against each other effortlessly, with well-practiced movements.

The room was hot, filled with their groans, moans, and grunts as each man brought the other closer to the brink of ecstasy. Steve reached down to massage his cock, wrapping his large, long-fingered hand around it, letting his head fall forward so his hair tickled Tony’s chin.

“Steve,” Tony whispered, his fingers digging harder into Steve’s asscheeks. Steve’s eyelids fluttered.

“Tony, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me,” Tony whispered, his thrusts growing more erratic. “Tell me you’re gonna cum for me.” Steve moaned: he could barely form words, his mind so hazy from the strength of his arousal.

“I’m gonna cum for you,” Steve said.

“Yes, baby,” Tony groaned, and his words turned into a long moan as he thrust himself harder and harder into Steve’s ass. His dick hit against the spot that always turned Steve to jelly over and over and Steve’s words came out as a jumbled rush.

“Tony-fuck-I’m-” he stuttered, spilling himself onto Tony’s chest and stomach, hot, white spurts of cum shooting from him and coating his hand wet. “Ah,” he said, crying out as he felt Tony jerk a few more times, knowing by the irregular beats of his hips that he was cumming too. Steve fisted his free hand in the blanket as Tony slowly pulled out of him, careful not to jerk his hips too fast. He watched as Tony released him, trailing a finger up to swipe through Steve’s cum. Tony brought his finger to his mouth and licked it clean, eliciting another small whimper from Steve.

“So hot,” Tony whispered. He reached back and pulled the condom off his dick, careful not to spill the contents over the bed, and tied it up. “Shower?” Tony asked. Steve nodded, feeling sticky and hot. A shower would be a wonderful remedy to the only uncomfortable aftermath of sex.

#

Steve woke late in the morning, with soreness that he could only attribute to being heartily fucked. He eased out of bed before he noticed Tony’s side was empty. It wasn’t unusual for Tony to sneak out of bed before him, but he would usually come back or leave some trace of his whereabouts. Throwing on a pair of grey sweats and a white tee, he stumbled sleepily from the bedroom in bare feet, to the sitting room where he heard a mumbling of voices. Natasha stood closest to the door, her arms wound around herself and a concerned look pressed into her delicate features.

“What’s going on?” asked Steve quietly, startling her. She shook her head.

“We’re not sure,” she said. Steve glanced at Tony, who stood across the room, a horrified look on his face. “It looks like it may have been another attack,” Natasha looks at Steve. “Something tells me it’s-”

“Don’t say it,” Steve whispers. He shakes his head. “Don’t say it.” Tony looks at Steve, the same disquiet he feels echoing over his face. Tony’s eyes have a pleading look, as though begging him to do something. Steve feels a conflict in his chest. While he knew the Barnes may not be who Steve knew him as anymore, Steve also prided himself on having loyalty, especially to those he served with. He turned away, leaning close to Natasha. “I’ll get dressed. We can head out twenty.”

#

Steve and Nat don’t leave in twenty minutes - in fact, they don’t leave at all. Instead, Tony called them into a conference meeting, he, Natasha, Vision, Wanda - all of them - and sat as the U.S. Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross, explained to them the Sokovia Accords. Steve’s eyes watched Tony, who doesn’t look at him. There was a strange tension between them, something gone sour or wrong. Even as Tony shook his head, Steve knew what he was thinking about: the boy, whose name Tony sometimes muttered in his sleep, when the nightmares were at their worst. Steve listened as Ross spoke, explaining the accords, but chose not to say anything, settling instead to let his head fall back on his shoulders and count the speckles in the plaster ceiling. The meeting seemed to go on and on, and before he knew it, the day had turned to late afternoon, and he was starving but felt too sick and drained to want to eat.

When Ross finished speaking and left, Steve let out a long sigh. Tony looked at him.

“You didn’t listen to a single thing he said,” Tony snapped.

“That’s-” Steve glared at him. “That’s not true.”

Wanda weighed the heavy book of Accords in her hand, giving Vision a frightened, almost nauseous sort of look. “This is insane,” she whispered. Tony shook his head.

“It’s not.” Steve gave him an incredulous look and stood. “Where are you going?” Tony asked, watching as Steve strode from the room.

“On a walk.” Steve swept out of the conference room and down the hall, following his favorite path to the acres of field behind the compound. His swift walk turned into a jog, and when he saw the doors leading to the outside, a run. Once beyond the doors, he sprinted. Before Weapon-X, he’d never been fast. He’d barely been fast enough to complete the mile in high school, and he’d never been strong. Even now, as he ran through the open field, trying to escape from some of the guilty energy that raged within him, he felt weaker than he had ever been. The recap of what happened in Sokovia dug into his chest like ice, and his inability to shake the dread of who had blown up a new building caused a crazed frenzy of doubt within him. Seeing and fighting Bucky had been excruciating, possibly more so than their fight against Ultron. The feelings he held for that man spanned nearly a century, and he felt that he’d betrayed the memory of that by falling in love with someone else. Even with the strength of his connection to Peggy, he knew there was no denying - Steve Roger’s had once loved James Barnes.

#

Tony paced their bedroom for some time, finally deciding to watch as Steve ran laps around the long, wide yard. He couldn’t blame him; of course, he was upset. Between the memories of Sokovia and the idea that someone he once knew could be committing terrible acts, Tony would be falling apart. Steve’s rigid ability to keep himself together when his world seemed to be crashing down was admirable but stupid. There was no use hiding that he was hurting, at the very least not to Tony, and he resented the feeling that Steve was pushing him away or keeping him at arm's length. There was nothing Tony hated more than being lied to, except perhaps being coddled, and he suspected Steve was doing both. Tony watched as Steve walked slowly back to the building, hands in his pockets and his head down.

“Hey!” Tony shouted sharply. Steve jumped and looked up.

“Hey,” Steve replied loudly. “I’ll be right up.”

Tony stayed on the balcony, watching the sun set for the second night in a row. The door to their bedroom shut and Steve joined him there, leaning over the balustrade to watch the sky grow pink and orange and purple against the puffy, cotton-candy clouds.

“What’s going on, Steve?” asked Tony quietly. Steve wiped a hand over his face and sighed.

“I don’t-” he took another deep breath before continuing. “I don’t like the motives behind these accords.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony asked, sneaking a peek at Steve. His face was impassive and his fingers were laced together over the edge of the balcony. “And what are those, do you think?”

“I don’t know yet,” Steve replied. “But I think it has to have something to do with Bucky.” Steve shook his head and looked at Tony. “This can’t be as simple as it sounds.”

“It’s not,” Tony whispered, tearing his gaze from Steve’s to stare at the tree line. “Death is complicated, Steve.” He placed a hand on his lover’s back and rubbed slow, smooth circles over his sweaty shirt. “Can we talk about this more in the morning?” Steve shrugged, then nodded.

“You go ahead in, I need food.” Tony nodded and headed inside. Steve continued to stand on the balcony after he left, looking out at the darkening sky. He still felt that tight knot of anxiety in his stomach, which built and built until he closed his eyes. Steve wanted to scream. He’d never felt this anguished before, about anything. He’d built up and built up this hero within himself and thought he could save the world and everybody in it. Now, the government was telling him that instead of a hero, he was seen as a vigilante. He felt sick.

He moved through the bedroom silently, trying to ignore Tony’s eyes on him as he stepped back through the door and closed it behind him. He felt a wash of relief at the blissfully empty kitchen, and swung the refrigerator door open, unsure what he was craving. He dug out a pack of deli meat and pre-sliced cheese, a single lettuce leaf and an assortment of condiments and set them on the counter. From a bowl placed there, he found a tomato, and then took two pieces of white bread from a plastic bag in the cabinet beside the fridge. The simple act of making a sandwich was enough to take his mind off the devastating remainder of his thoughts. As he stood against the kitchen island, staring at the sink and chewing slowly, trying to take his time before returning to the bed he shared with Tony, he thought over what Tony had said.

‘ _Death is complicated._ ’ He’d made the phrase sound so easy. Even now, Steve knew Peggy lay in her bed at home, taking what could be her final breath. He knew - or suspected - Bucky had destroyed a building, with hundreds of people inside. The Sokovian people were refugees, homeless and terrified. He knew it was their fault. Steve felt shame well inside him at the idea of refusing to sign the accords, but his heart wasn’t in it. He feared for the lives of his friends - for Wanda and Bucky and, whenever he was to return, Bruce. What would happen to those who were to blame for terrible things - who couldn’t always control their reactions, or weren’t themselves? He shuddered to think of a dozen country's punishments for their failings. Steve nodded to himself.

“Death is complicated,” he whispered aloud, jumping when someone cleared their throat behind him.

“That was what I said,” Tony murmurs, chuckling as Steve spins around. “You’re okay, Steve?” The phrase, more like a statement, was posed as a question, and one that Steve didn’t have the answer to. He shrugged and placed the last half of his sandwich down on the counter, mouth suddenly dry. Tony licked his lips and cleared his throat again before shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants with unnecessary force. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, after the meeting.” Steve shrugged and shook his head.

“It’s all but forgotten,” he replied. The tension was still there between them, something weighty and unsure. In the quiet of the house, Steve felt even more distant and yet closed in by Tony’s presence. “I said I was coming right back.” Tony nodded.

“I know, but I wanted to show you this.” He pulled the smartphone out of his pocket and tapped a few things on the screen before swiping up, projecting the holographic image of a small house nestled deep in the woods, a lake in the background. “What do you think?” Steve shook his head, confused.

“I think it’s nice,” Steve replied slowly. He picked his sandwich back up off the counter and took another large bit, grimacing. “I’m confused, Tony.” Tony laughed and nodded, as if he’d predicted Steve’s exact reaction to this confusing, albeit beautiful image.

“I was thinking about getting it.” Tony said, swiping down to close the image. He pushed his phone back into his pocket and walked around the center island so he was standing next to Steve. “I’m not so spry as I used to be-” Steve laughed at this and Tony winked, “-and I was thinking about… well, settling down somewhere.” Steve nodded again, still unsure of his involvement.

“This is still going over my head,” Steve admitted. Tony shifted awkwardly for a moment, then cleared his throat and reached up to remove his glasses.

“I was hoping you would come with me,” Tony finally conceded. He wasn’t looking at Steve, just cleaning his glasses on the edge of his t-shirt before pushing them back onto his face. He stared at a point just to Steve’s left, as though he wasn’t sure what the other man would say and couldn’t look the idea of rejection in the face.

“Oh,” was all Steve was able to say. He swallowed. “I-” Tony nodded and shrugged.

“No big deal,” Tony said. “I thought I’d throw it out there, see what you thought of it. You don’t like it-”

“No,” Steve interrupted. “It’s not that.” It was his turn to clear his throat to try to ease the tension in his voice. “It’s just surprising, is all.” He finished his sandwich and smoothed a hand over his stubbled jaw. He’d have to remember to shave in the morning. “Let’s talk about this in the morning?” A sudden wave of exhaustion hit Steve, and he watched Tony’s face unsuccessfully mask his disappointment. “I’m not saying no,” Steve assured Tony. “I’m just saying we should talk about it on fresh minds.”

Even with the earliness of the hour, Steve looped an arm around Tony, pulling him back to the bedroom. He got them both undressed and laid kisses over almost every inch of Tony’s bare skin. Steve was still sore from the night before and exhausted from the numbers and words circling over and over in his brain, so when he laid his head back on the pillow, mouth full of the taste of Tony, and Tony curled up against his side, their legs tangled together and blankets pulled around them, it was no wonder he fell asleep so fast. He dreamed of Tony in the small house on the lake; of a child running back and forth on a deck they built together; of growing old and their frail, tired hands entwined; and of Sokovia falling from the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Leave a comment down below telling me what you think Steve is gonna say about the house, and also whether or not he's gonna sign the accords UwU.  
> I'm gonna try to post the next chapter in about a week, but I'm getting ready to go out of the country, so I don't know how consistently I'll be able to write this - I have to do a lot of reading, since I'm pretty rusty on the Cap and Tony storyline.  
> Love ya! -Olive


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Oh my god it has been so long since I've updated this story, I hope people are still interested. There's a couple updates on my tumblr, here (copy & paste to view): https://thedemonledger.tumblr.com/  
> There, you'll see what I'm doing and where I'm going. You should follow me there - I know tumblr sort of fell out of fashion recently, but it's the best place to post about ff.  
> It also has a life update, so if you're interested in that, go there.  
> I promise to not let this story fall by the wayside anymore, and new stories will be going up within the week. I have two more chapters completed after this one, and I hope this one was satisfying.

Steve gasped awake, a cold sweat forming over his skin. He glanced across Tony at the clock on the nightstand. Barely past midnight. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and swung his legs out of bed. His head throbbed and he couldn’t get the vision of Sokovia’s decimated country blowing apart and raining from the sky like shrapnel. He closed his eyes against it, but opened them again quickly as the imagery became overwhelming. Glancing back at Tony, he felt himself warm as the brunet’s eyelids fluttered in his sleep and he reached out, feeling for Steve. Sliding off the bed quietly, so as not to wake Tony, he pulled on a sweater and his same, grey sweatpants from the day before and padded lightly into the hall. A light was still on in the sitting room. 

“Nat?” Steve called, keeping his voice hushed. He peeked around the corner and saw Natasha sitting alone, her head in her hands. As she heard him approach she sat up, sniffed hard, and wiped her face. A forced smile was placed there. 

“Hi,” she said quietly. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Natasha responded quickly. Steve gave her a nurturing sort of glare and she laughed, shaking her head at his vain attempt. “Will you sit with me awhile?” 

“Happy to,” he replied, sinking down onto the couch beside her. 

“Why are you awake?” Natasha asked, glancing back at Steve over her shoulder. “Bad dreams?” Her tone was teasing, but when Steve chuckled and nodded, her amused face dropped into one of concern. 

“Stop,” Steve said as she reached back, gripping his arm in her small hand. “It’s nothing new.” He laughed again. “I’ve been having bad dreams since 1928, Nat.” She rolled her eyes and sits forward. 

“I have a question for you,” she whispered, staring straight ahead of her. 

“Shoot,” Steve replied. 

“Do you feel… worried? About the Accords, I mean.” 

Steve took a long time to answer, in which he watched the back of Natasha’s head. He’d thought of all the reasons why they should sign it, but they weren’t enough to outweigh the reasons that they shouldn’t. But Tony… Tony would want them to sign it -- all of them. And he wouldn’t take majority. Steve knew if he didn’t sign it, it could raise any number of flags to Tony, already on edge from Ultron. It was strange, how Steve knew he wouldn’t understand, even though their fear, different as it may be, came from the same place. The things they helped build to create were the very things that sought to destroy them. For Tony, Ultron’s madness, his desperation for power over freedom; for Steve, HYDRA hiding behind S.H.I.E.L.D. Every path they took, everything they did, watched. Maybe for Tony that meant freedom to do good without the fear that it would turn on him. But Steve couldn’t stand the thought of being watched and poked and ordered around. He’d done enough of that in the Army. He wouldn’t be subject to it now. 

“I feel like they’re… I just have a suspicion that they’re true nature is yet to be revealed. Everyone has their own motivations, their own secrets. I wonder if maybe we’re not being told the whole truth.” Steve shifted uncomfortably. “And I worry about our friends.” 

“Friends like Bucky?” shot back Natasha. 

“I- yes. But also you. And Wanda and Bruce and Vision.” Steve sat forward, taking one of Natasha’s hands in both of his own. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with Bucky, or where he is, but I can see and touch you-” he squeezed her hand, “and Wanda and Vision. The last thing I want is for something that you think is there to safeguard us turning against us.” 

“Again,” Natasha whispered. 

“Again,” Steve emphasized. “What sort of rules will they impose to keep us in line? What happens if we break one?” 

Natasha pulled her hand from Steve’s. “You get arrested.” 

“And then what?” asked Steve, standing and pacing around the coffee table to look down at his friend. Of everyone - even Tony - he still trusted Natasha the most. “We spend years in some prison in another country - or worse, on the Raft in the middle of the ocean?” 

“They wouldn’t put us there,” Natasha reasoned, though her tone sounded unsure. 

“You don’t think so? You don’t think we’d become the most dangerous criminals in the world?” Steve countered. “You don’t think they would put Bruce on the Raft because it’s the only place they could keep him? That if he ever showed up again, he wouldn’t spend years there because of an accident?

“I-” 

“Natasha,” Steve cut in, crouching down to meet her at eye level. She looked at him, then away. “You know this isn’t right.” 

“I don’t know anything, I just feel sick!” She stood, pacing away from him. Kicking a chair, she turned and crossed her arms. “I trust you with my life, Steve. And I feel afraid for what this will mean for us. But people are dead because of us, and that can’t go unpunished.” 

“And what about the people that will die in the future if we can’t help them?” 

“I don’t know.” A sob broke from Natasha, who so rarely got emotional. Steve stepped with long strides across the living room and gathered her into his arms. He made soft shushing noises as he rocked her in a slow, gentle half circle. 

“Whatever we do, it’s a zero-sum game,” Steve whispered, “and I’m not okay with that.” 

“I’m not either,” Natasha replied, her voice hoarse. “But what are we supposed to do?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve replied. “All I know is that if this goes through… I have to find him. Before they do.” Natasha pulled back, frowning at him. She shook her head and picked up the Accords, sinking back onto the couch. She flipped the wide book open to the first page and began to read aloud. Steve sat beside her once more, letting himself lounge back against the cushions and listen to her soft, melodic voice read what he felt was a death sentence. 

#

When Tony woke in the morning, Steve was already gone, his side of the bed cold. He scratched his chin and shifted sleepily, confused by the emptiness of his bedroom. Throwing his legs out of bed, he dragged on his pants from the night before and pulled a black tank out of his dresser; the sun had barely risen over the tree line, and the clock beside the bed read just after five am. It had to be some sort of emergency to get Steve up and going - or the accords. As he stepped toward the door, however, he heard yelling from down the hall, and flung the door open. Steve’s raised voice echoed from the sitting room, barely drowning out Natasha’s own screaming. 

“You don’t get to decide-” 

“The fate of the world is not-” 

“What everyone else’s lives-” 

“In our hands, Steve! We’re not-”

“Looks like, we’re not-” 

“Gods!”

“Criminals!” 

They both paused their yelling as Tony stepped into the room, eyebrow raised and arms crossed over his chest. 

“Good morning,” he said softly. He glanced at Wanda, who sat beside Vision on the couch, her face streaked with tears. Between the five of them were the Sokovia Accords, still unsigned. “Shall I remind everyone that we have a no yelling before eight in the morning rule?” Steve stepped away, scoffing, his hands curled into fists at his side. Tony felt sick watching him struggle as he did, but agreed still with Nat; they weren’t gods. 

Steve turned and pointed at Natasha. “How hypocritical can you get, Nat? You and I just talked about what they could do to Banner, and you’re here supporting this- this-” 

“This what, Steve? We don’t even fucking know where Bruce is! We read the Accords, talked about the what-ifs, but- you don’t get to -- God!” Natasha shot back; her face was red and her long hair bounced as she spoke, her indignation volatile. “Don’t turn my words around on me-” 

“Stop,” Vision said, “that’s enough.” The arguing pair both glared at him as he stood. “It is not worth burning up a friendship over a stack of papers. Where would you -- either of you -- be without the other?” He stepped forward and lifted the Accords, rifling through them before letting his hands fall to his side, one still clutching the book. “Dead, or worse.” 

“You can’t think this is a good idea, Vision,” Steve argued. 

“I think it is the best idea we currently have,” Vision replied. “Now unless you wish to wake the whole compound, I suggest you save the arguing for a later time.” Natasha shuffled her feet and looked up at Steve, who frowned, not looking at anyone. His nostrils flared and his lips quivered. 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said softly. “You’re right. I’m worried about Bruce. And Wanda, and…” Steve glanced over at her, giving her a warning look. She nodded almost imperceptibly and swallowed, continuing, “and I hate that this is what it’s come to.” 

“I can’t agree to something like this. It puts our family at risk. What if we’re needed somewhere and they send UN Aid instead? We _know_ what’s out there and what’s a risk.” 

“Steve-” Tony started, but Steve shook his head. 

“We are _not_ vigilantes. But as soon as we sign this, we’re being branded as such. How can any of you be okay with that?” 

“Because my home was destroyed and we caused that,” Wanda said, finally speaking up. “We- all of us.” 

“She’s right,” Tony said, sitting on the edge of a loveseat and staring up at Steve, who’s eyes were full of angry tears. “Ultron was my fault -- my dumb, over-zelous invention because I thought I could make the world safer with a force I didn’t understand.” He gestured to Vision. “We know what’s a risk because we help to create them. And someone decided that we needed to be stopped.” 

Steve shook his head, checking his phone, which had binged on the table between them. His face fell slightly and he looked around him. “You can sign it. But I… I need more time to think.” He turned on his heel and strode quickly from the room, without hesitation and without looking back. Sam wandered into the living room, shirt tossed over his shoulder. He glanced behind him to watch Steve leave. 

“Where’s he going?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Tony replied. “But I have a feeling it’s not to think about that.” He pointed at the Accords still clutched in Vision’s hand and left the living room, following slowly in Steve’s wake. He peeked over the balustrade leading to the lower floors and saw Steve with his face in his hands, shaking with silent tears. Tony’s heart ached, and he longed to join him, but knew the best thing for Steve was to leave him alone. 

#

Steve looked at the woman sitting next to him, her blonde hair falling as a curtain to shield her from his gaze. She chuckled and tucked it behind her ear before turning to look at him. 

“You know that I can’t legally help you, right?” asked Sharon Carter. Steve nodded and looked away from her. Her scoff was more damaging than her immediate response, and Steve wiped his hands on his pants and made to stand. “Wait,” Sharon whispered, slipping her hand around his wrist. She glanced behind them, at Sam waiting patiently by the door to the church, and the few stragglers from the funeral. “Come back to my hotel with me, I might be able to give you a little more information.” 

Steve nodded and rose with her, leaving her hand tucked around his elbow. The Accords were being signed right now, and Steve had no plans to stop it, no way to stop it. He just needed to be sure - to be absolutely sure - that if Bucky was out there somewhere, a dangerous super soldier capable of irreparable damage, that he would do everything in his power to keep these Accords from hurting him. Sharon squeezed his arm and dropped her hand down so their fingers laced together. He shot her a confused, concerned look, and the glint in her eye told him to trust the method. Sam fell in behind them, following to the car and sliding in. The all black car glided soundlessly away from the curb as soon as the door was shut. Sharon reached forward and slid the divider between them and the driver up before she spoke.

“I can’t tell you much, not now, but we have tips he was last seen near Bucharest, but we lost him somewhere between Ploiesti and there. He’s been keeping quiet, which is good,” Sharon glanced at Steve, “considering everything.” Steve nodded and watched London from out his window, watched people walk from destination to destination. Eventually, even Sharon’s voice became white noise among his sea of thoughts. From London to Bucharest was a long trip if you didn’t want to leave a trace. Even still, there would be passport control and questions and --

“Steve,” Sam said, jolting Steve from his thoughts. He hadn’t realized the car had stopped. Sam stood stooped over gesturing for him to get out. “We’re here.” Sharon’s phone began to ring as soon as they were in the building. 

“Give me just a second,” she said, stepping away from the pair just inside the door. Steve tucked his hands into his pockets and looked around. 

“Where were you in that car?” asked Sam.

“Bucharest. Vienna. Prague,” Steve answered vaguely. “Thinking about all the places he could be and all the places we aren’t.” 

“This is good, though, it’s a lead. The trail’s been cold since he pulled you out of that river in Washington,” Sam said, trying to catch Steve’s eye. “You can’t let this consume you. Think about Tony.” 

“I am,” Steve replied. “That’s all I’m thinking about. Tony and Bucky, Bucky and Tony, and now these Accords--” Steve cut himself off, his hands curling into tight fists in his pockets. He sighed, then reached up to scratch his eyebrow before looking back over to Sharon, who paced anxiously toward them. 

“There’s something you both need to see, come on.” She grabbed Steve and Sam by their elbows and dragged them to the elevator, where she punched the button for the tenth floor. Steve watched her watch the numbers slowly tick up and up as they ascended closer to her floor, watched her mouth move in silent mutters the whole way there. 

“What’s going on?” asked Steve. 

She shook her head. “There was a bombing at the International Center, where the signing of the Accords are being held. They think it was him.” She looked at Steve, then the elevator dinged, and they all walked swiftly down the carpeted hall to her room, which she opened as fast as she could and let the boys enter first. Switching on the television, she flipped to the first news channel she could find and then gasped as an image of the bombing was shown. Steve felt sick, his knees weak and his chest aching. There was no way-- 

His vision went spotty, greying around the edges, and then he was out. 

#

Tony watched the television intently, his face burning with rage. Seven months and nothing. An entire country nearly wiped off the map, and still nothing. Steve had people searching, scouring the news and the web, hacking into CCTV footage and traffic cams and still nothing -- and then this? It didn’t make sense, even for someone as ruthless as the Winter Soldier. His phone rang, a high, shrill sound that made him jump, and he was relieved to see Natasha’s name flashing across his screen. 

“You’re okay,” he said as he answered. 

“Yep, fine. Listen, Tony, we need you in Vienna, now.” Natasha sounded anxious and harried. “There’s a problem.” 

“What kind of problem?” 

“A Steve problem,” Natasha explained -- the sounds of sirens flared loud in the background, cutting her off. “We’re pretty sure it was Barnes who caused the explosion, and I think Steve going to go after him, so we need to find Barnes before he does.” Tony let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and stood. 

“I’m on my way,” Tony said, hanging up his call and stowing his phone back into his pocket. “Friday.” 

“Yes sir,” responded Friday, her voice following him as he strode angrily down the hall. 

“I need you to ready a Quinjet. We’re going to Austria.” Even with his fear of Steve’s reluctance to sign the Accords, the muttering Tony heard when Steve slept, the way he looked when he realized the Winter Soldier was his best friend… all of that was secondary to knowing that if Steve got to Barnes first, there would be no justice for anyone. Ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> If you like what you read here and want to stay updated, subscribe to this story, drop a kudo, or leave a comment.  
> If you want to stay updated on what I'm writing, subscribe to me.  
> Have an excellent day! -Olive


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much interpersonal action between our three boys in this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. 
> 
> If you like what you're reading here, follow my tumblr: thedemonledger.tumblr.com -- there you'll find blurbs, fandom reblogs, and posting schedules. I plan on posting on their at least twice to three times a week while I have time (basically before school starts again in April), so go check it out! 
> 
> <3 xx - Olive

“I can’t believe you fainted,” Sam said with a chuckle, looking out the window of the helicopter they flew in. Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

“Neither can I,” replied Steve honestly. “Worst of all, I fainted in front of you.” He nudged Sam’s boot with the tip of his shoe and chuckled. Sharon at the helm, her face a glow by the white light of her dashboard in the darkened cab.

“What’s the plan?” asked Steve. Sharon shook her head. 

“We’re going to land on the helipad where six members of my team will unload me. You’ll stay in the chopper until I give you the clear, which we’re deciding is what?” Her nose wrinkled with indignation. 

Sam leaned forward, excitement on his face, and opened his mouth to speak, but Steve cut across him. “Just ask someone for something benign. Gum, chapstick, water - anything. We’ll know you’re out of range and we can leave.” Sharon nodded while Sam shot Steve a disappointed look. “Look, not every good idea can be yours, let me have a couple.” Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled. 

“We’re here. Stay in the back,” Sharon said, giving them both a stern look. “And don’t come out until I give you the go ahead.” The men both nodded, slinking into the dark recesses of the helicopter as it landed lightly on the roof of a parking structure. “I’ll have a truck for you in half an hour in the first parking structure north of here. Keep your head down. We’re close to the site,” She pulled off her headset and glanced back at them, then continued, tone slightly bitter, “if you want to see what you might be protecting. The files I promised will be under the passenger seat. Do not blow this, boys.” 

“Thank you, Sharon.” Steve said, reaching forward to grip her hand as she stepped into the hold and started to open the door. She squeezed his fingers then pulled away quickly. 

“Don’t thank me,” she whispered, hand still on the door handle. “Just don’t get me arrested.” 

Steve nodded and fell back into the darkness as Sharon was helped out of the chopper by six of her associates, who didn’t even deign a glance into the interior of the helicopter. The door slid shut with a loud clang and Steve moved to the window, watching as Sharon walked away. She didn’t glance back - she was very good - but she moved her hand up to her ear, something which could be taken as a nervous tick. Only Steve knew she was activating their aural link. Her conversation came in clear, and he flashed a thumbs up to Sam, who nodded and pressed a hand to his ear, listening intently. Their conversation was boring at first, litigation and the cost of damages. But one piece of news broke the monotony. 

“I’m sorry, who was that you said?” came Sharon’s tone, loud and surprised. 

“T’Chaka, the King of Wakanda, is among the dead,” said a male voice. “His son T’Challa is, uh, let’s just say not very happy.” 

“What does he want?” Sharon asked. 

“Vengeance,” someone replied. There was a long pause in which Steve made eye contact with Sam and subtly shook his head, warning him. 

“I’m sorry, does anyone have any gum? I know this is probably a weird time,” Sharon said, a little too quickly and a little too loudly. No one seemed to notice, however, and moments later, the line went dead. Steve and Sam yanked out their earpieces, each stowing them gently back into the case Sharon had provided for them, which they placed on the passenger seat. 

“Well,” Steve said. “Now or never, I guess.” They stepped out, each pulling their baseball caps down lower over their faces as they did so, and began to walk swiftly toward the exit. 

#

Tony shook his head as seven agents approached him and Natasha just outside the International Center. A tall, blonde woman extended her hand, which he met and shook. 

“My name is Sharon Carter,” she said, shaking Natasha’s hand after Tony’s. “I’m Agent 13, CIA. I was with S.H.I.E.L.D. until that went south. Ms. Romanov, I’m so sorry you had to endure this.” Natasha shook her head and shrugged, wiping her face awkwardly. “Mr. Stark, we have a few questions we’d like to ask you in regards to the fugitive.” 

“I don’t really know anything about him,” Tony said. “Just that he’s dangerous and potentially brainwashed.” Sharon nodded. 

“But you do have a personal connection with Captain Steven Rogers, is that correct?” she asked blithely, combing through her notes. Her eyes met Natasha’s, who cleared her throat with discomfort. 

“I would say so, we’ve worked together nearly every day for nearly four years.” Tony frowned. “What does this have to do with the Winter Soldier?” He shook his head as she opened her mouth to speak. “I think you should start opening all channels you can -- traffic cameras, CCTV, public transport -- put out some sort of warning.” 

“Mr. Stark, we’re doing everything we can at the current moment-” 

“Well, you’re obviously not doing enough!” Tony yelled, pointing at the still smoldering building. “Good people died in there today. Do more.” Tony strode away, Natasha following a little behind him after shooting Sharon an apologetic look. Sharon pursed her lips and turned to watch him walk away, her heart racing. 

“Do what he suggested,” Sharon said to her team. “Open all channels, be on the lookout for anyone matching James Barnes’ description.” They nodded and scrambled to do so, and she continued to watch Tony Stark from afar as he spoke animatedly with Natasha and knew it would only be a matter of time before someone caught Steve Rogers, too. 

#

“Who the fuck does she think she is?” Tony spat, glancing around Natasha at Sharon. “Asking me about Steve, as if it’s not bad enough -- as if- as if I’m not already worried about-” 

“Tony, and I mean this with all the love in my heart, but shut up,” Nat said as she leant over to cough heavily. “I just almost got blown up and you’re fretting about your boyfriend. Please, spare me.” She glared up at Tony, who crossed his arms and stared incredulously at her. 

“I am not fretting.” 

“You are,” Natasha argued. “There’s nothing more we can do until we have news on someone. If you want to keep an eye on the camera footage for Steve, be my guest. I’m going to go find a nice bench to continue coughing up half of my lung on.” She limped away, leaving Tony standing alone in the courtyard, staring at the wreckage of the once beautiful International Center. He shook his head and dug out his phone, sifting through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for. It rang, and rang and rang, until finally the voicemail answered. 

“The caller you have reached is not available. Please leave your message after the tone.” 

“Steve,” Tony said shakily. “I don’t know where you are, but please don’t go after Barnes. They’re looking for him, and if they find him, they’ll find you too. We can help you figure out what happened, but… but I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me. Please call me back.” 

#

Steve’s eyes tracked Tony across the wide plaza, watching him pace from one side of the square to the other. He couldn’t hear what he’s saying over the phone, but continued to watch as he sat on a park bench and looked into the building across from him, side blown out, ambulances and government ops teams everywhere. Steve knew Tony well enough to see the exhaustion that made his body fold, had him settling his elbows on his knees, hanging his head. And Steve knew Tony well enough to know that he - and Bucky - were likely the causes of it. Even still, Steve swallowed his pride and turned away from the edge of the parking structure, back toward the car that sat idling, Sam in the driver's seat. 

“Let’s go,” Steve said as he swung himself into the passenger’s side. He looked behind him, at his suit and shield, and felt a pang of regret that quickly settled into guilt. “Before I change my mind.” 

“You can always change your mind,” Sam reminded him as they drove their inconspicuous truck down the incline of the parking structure and towards the last place Bucky was seen: Bucharest. Steve pulled the file folder out from between the seat and the floor, flipping it open as they sped onto the highway headed toward Hungary. “It’s a twelve hour drive to Bucharest.” 

“We’re not driving to Bucharest. We’re driving to Budapest and catching a small craft flight there.” Steve said, reading the accounts of crimes supposedly committed by the Winter Soldier. It was long, bloody, gruesome. Finally, he reached a spot that stuck out to him. 

_December 16, 1991. [Redacted] and [redacted] are in a fatal car accident caused by Barnes, James Buchanan, the Winter Soldier. Stolen was [redacted]. Barnes was not apprehended. Presumed first kill as Winter Soldier. [Redacted] notified on December 18, 1991. Named as head of [redacted] effective January 1, 1992. See file: [redacted] for more intel._

“Well this is useless,” Steve said, annoyed. “They redacted all the important information. God, that date is so familiar though. 1991…” He looked over at Sam, who’s eyes were firmly glued to the road. “What happened in 1991?” 

“I don’t know. I turned thirteen? My mom got a new job? Something happened with Stark Industries… but like I said, I was thirteen.” Sam glanced at Steve. “Why?” 

Steve wracked his brain, thinking and trying to figure out what could have happened. “How old was Tony when he took over Stark Industries?” 

“Twenty-one, I think. What’s going on, Steve?” 

And it clicked. Steve dug out his phone, and typed rapidly on the keyboard. The result that popped up was not the one he wanted. “I, uh… I think Bucky killed Howard and Maria Stark.” 

“What?” Sam said, tone tight, bordering on shrill. “And we’re protecting this guy? He killed your friend, Tony’s parents, and you still wanna find him?” 

“Sam, he was brainwashed. It’s like he didn’t have a choice.” Steve was unsure, though. He read the passage again, trying to see past his own glaring confusion, hurt, and anguish to what he could have possibly stolen. “I just don’t know what he took.” 

“We’re a little over two hours out. That should give you plenty of time to think,” Sam said. The silence in the car was thick after that, full of tension and unspoken words. When they reached Budapest, Steve checked his voicemail and listened to the one from Tony. Then, he erased it and dumped his phone in the nearest garbage. The last thing he needed was something traceable, because the last thing he needed was to get caught. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I don't know if you can tell, but I've really been loving this story. It's in my brain and now I have to get it out. Please enjoy this next chapter. Honestly, it's one of my favorites so far.

Bucharest was beautiful and full; a stark contrast to the dull walls and damp smelling wood of Bucky’s single-room flat in the farthest outskirts of the city. Steve planned to never ask Sam how he figured out where Bucky lived; even now, as he stood in the apartment, he didn’t want to know. It seemed invasive, but here he was. He carefully set his shield down in front of him on the table, listening for the sounds of sirens, of steel-toed boots on cement stairs, the whispers or murmurs of special forces. So far, nothing, which was great -- the less interference he had, the more of a chance he’d have to return Bucky from his brainwashing. His brow furrowed at the sound of a key turning in the lock and he gripped tightly the chair in front of him, willing his pulse to slow. Every moment lead up to now, and he might finally get his best friend back. Tony flashed across his mind, reminding him that he couldn’t think of it as more. 

“I know you’re here, Steve,” came Bucky’s voice as the door creaked open. His boots were soft on the wood of the entry hall; Steve was impressed by his mastery of stealth. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky continued, pausing his stride, “but if you’re here to arrest me, I might have to.” 

“Why would someone need to arrest you?” Steve asked, willing there to be no answer. 

“I don’t know, I just saw my face and knew it was time to go.” Bucky still didn’t continue forward, even as Steve waited quietly, patiently for him to. 

“Good news then,” Steve said nervously, fighting to keep his voice light and steady. “I’m just here to talk. But you’re right, there are people looking for you. We may only have minutes.” Steve looked up from the table as he heard footsteps round the corner, and was shocked by the face looking back at him. Instead of gaunt, with harrowed eyes and soviet armor, Bucky looked… like himself. A little scruffier, worse for wear; his hair was still long and unkempt, and his beard needed trimming, but the same man Steve had known in his youth. He looked tired but he was here, alive. Steve fought every urge to walk around the table and hug him, his grip becoming white-knuckled on the back of Bucky’s kitchen chair. 

Bucky bit the inside of his lower lip before speaking. “Hi,” he said, then laughed. “You probably know more about me than I do.” 

“Well, what do you remember?” asked Steve in a cool, calm voice.

“I… I don’t know. It comes back in flashes. I mostly know what I read about myself. But sometimes… girls with red hair and pretty smiles, uniforms, parties and music that doesn’t get played enough anymore… bread lines.” He grimaced and looked away. “Trains.” Steve watches as he steels himself, closing his eyes and muttering something under his breath before he returns Steve’s gaze. “But it’s just glimpses. Nothing permanent or real.” He paused again, swallowed and held his stare. “But I remember you.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, his face flushing. He tore his eyes away from Bucky’s, pushing down the butterflies that threatened to grow in his already nervous chest. 

“You used to be a lot smaller, pal,” Bucky said with a laugh. The smile died almost as soon as it hit his face, and he looked down at his hands. “But that was before whatever made us like this, right?” Steve nodded and pulled out the chair he was holding onto, sighing in relief as he finally let go. 

“Do you mind if I sit? It feels weird, us standing-” 

“Be my guest,” Bucky responded, pulling out the opposite chair and sinking into it with a long, slow breath. Steve tapped his fingers on the shield in front of him; an awkward tension settled between them. Bucky sniffed and rapped his knuckles on the table. “Say, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, Buck,” Steve said. Bucky’s face shifted into a soft smile, and he looked away with a jerk of his head. 

“I might be getting my wires crossed here, but… did you- God,” Bucky trailed off, looking embarrassed. 

“Did I what?” Steve asked, confused. Bucky cleared his throat, scratched his nose, trailed his fingers on the tabletop; Steve knew he was stalling. But he could wait. 

“Did we ever- were we- fuck,” the swear came roughly from his mouth, and Barnes pushed quickly away from the table, walking intimidatingly towards Steve, who kept one hand on his shield. Bucky put on hand on the corner of the table, the other gripping the back of Steve’s chair, and he leaned in close. 

“I remember being in love with you, but I don’t know if it’s my shitty brain, or reality, so for the sake of my dwindling sanity, can you tell me whether it’s real or not?” Bucky demanded. His breath was hot on Steve’s face as he fully turned to look at him. His hands reached up, gripping the sides of Bucky’s face, fingers curling around the back of his neck. Bucky froze, unsure of Steve’s next move. 

“It’s real,” said Steve, leaning in. Bucky’s breathing grew labored the closer Steve’s mouth got to his, and he swallowed hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “But I’m with someone and I- I can’t-” He broke off as Bucky grew tense, his eyes darting from Steve to the door. “Buck-” 

“Shut up,” Bucky said, putting his hands on Steve’s wrists. 

“Bucky, I’m-” 

“I’m serious,” the brunet repeated, voice barely a whisper. “It’s time to go.” There was a loud bang and the door smashed in. Next thing Steve knew, he was on the floor, Bucky on top of him, metal fist aimed at his face. As it came down, it shifted course last minute and punched into the floor. From there, Bucky withdrew a grey-green army satchel, which he flung onto his back as he pulled Steve up. Voices yelled in unintelligible Romanian from the door, and Steve could hear the whistle of gun fire as they ran and jumped out the window, Steve managing to grab the shield as they flew past the table. 

And then they were running. 

#

“So,” Steve said, twisting his wrists in his cuffs. He pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose. “You’re T’Challa, then.” 

“Yes, I am.” said the man sitting rigidly in front of them. Steve could see the truck holding Bucky out the windshield, though the glass was tinted so black, he couldn’t actually see his friend within it. 

“You’ve got a cool suit,” said Sam awkwardly. T’Challa shifted and looked out the window. 

“Is it made of vibranium?” asked Steve, less curious and more to settle the tension. T’Challa remained silent, his face an impassive mask from what little he could see of it. 

“I understand your love for him, however that love may be. But still, he killed my father and countless others, and I cannot let that rest. You understand, Captain.” T’Challa looked back at Steve, his gaze calculating and stern. 

“Yeah, I got it,” Steve muttered, moving uncomfortably in his seat. Sam glanced at Steve and then at T’Challa, a confused and searching look on his face. “Look, I watch justice as much as you do, but you don’t understand the kind of influence he’s under,” Steve continued, meeting T’Challa’s gaze. “It’s unstoppable.” 

“We will find a way to stop it,” T’Challa replied. “Even if it means to kill him.” Steve swallowed and sat back, fighting tears. 

“I’m begging you to see reason,” Steve pleaded. 

“I am seeing reason, Captain Rogers. My path is not obscured by friendship or devotion, but cleared by my honor and duty to defend my people and avenge my father. You should know of these things,” T’Challa said, finally turning away from Steve. Their truck jolted and lunged as they drove into the underground facility in Berlin. 

Sam turned to face Steve. “When you hear the words ‘don’t get caught’, do they actually mean anything to you?” He shook his head. “What a waste of five hours.” 

“Not a waste,” Steve replied, watching out the windshield as they began to unload Bucky. The doors slid open and hands reached in, roughly pulling Sam and Steve out of the car. T’Challa was escorted out from the opposite side, his handling a little less physical. They were all walked to the entrance, where they were met by a short, weasley-looking man with grey hair and a sick grin on his face. Beside him was Sharon, a sour expression on her face.

“Captain, Wilson, this is Agent Everett Ross, Deputy Task Force Commander of the Joint Counter Terrorism Centre. King T’Challa, I think you’ve already met,” Sharon said, shooting death glares at Sam and Steve, who both looked at each other in discomfort. “Agent Ross is going to direct the Winter Soldier’s screening.”

“You two can go with Agent Carter, and Your Majesty can come with me,” Agent Ross said, giving Steve a once over. Steve looked away, further down the hall, where he saw Tony standing, an angry look on his face, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Steve swallowed and bowed his head as Sharon gestured them to follow Ross and T’Challa down a separate corridor, escorting them into a secure room. 

“Well,” Sharon said, closing the door behind her. “You did exactly what everyone thought you would.” She reached up and touched her ear, indicating that she was being listened to. Steve nodded and nudged Sam, who pulled out one of the metal chairs at the metal table in the center of the room and sat down. Beyond the glass panes of the room they stood in, Steve could see Bucky inside his prison box; he was in a concrete room, with a man sitting in front of him at a desk reading off a clipboard. He didn’t notice as Sharon turned on the intercom, just watched without looking away as the sound turned on. In front of him were Tony and Natasha, both still and silent. 

“You are Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, born 10 March, 1917?” asked the man, his accent heavy. Bucky gritted his teeth, looking away from him and into the camera. Steve could almost feel his eyes piercing into him, and he glanced down at Tony, who’d turned to look at him as well. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” 

“Well, Sergeant Barnes, I have a few questions for you, but we should start with your youth.” The man shuffled through some papers, humming quietly to himself. Steve held Tony’s gaze, shaking his head in confusion. 

“Who is he?” Steve mouthed. Tony shrugged and stood, pointing into the room. Steve nodded. Tony leaned down, whispered something to Natasha, who nodded and glanced back, then resumed her anxious leaning while she watched the interview. Tony strode around the glass room and pulled on the door, which didn’t budge. 

“Sorry,” Sharon said, leaning over to the panel on the wall and extending her ID card. The door clicked and Tony pulled again, this time successfully stepping into the room. 

“Is it possible for me to have a private moment with Steve?” asked Tony, glancing between Steve, Sharon, and Sam. Sharon frowned and sighed, gesturing for Sam to stand.

“I… yes. We’ll be just outside. This room is soundproof, but it doesn’t make you invisible.” Sharon placed one hand softly on Sam’s arm and flashed her badge in front of the panel by the door again, hauling it open and letting Sam leave first. Steve looked around the room, trying to keep his eyes on anything but Tony. 

“Steve, I tried to warn you,” Tony said, his voice shaky. He reached forward and wrapped his hand around Steve’s arm, who finally looked at the shorter brunet with exasperation. 

“You would have done the same thing for me,” replied Steve. 

“But I know you. What do you know about him anymore?” Tony asked, gesturing up at the screens above them. “I mean listen, he barely knows himself.” 

“I don’t know,” Bucky replied to an unknown question. The interviewer coughed and cleared his throat. 

“That’s just fine, Sergeant Barnes, you don’t need to know everything right now,” said the man. “It will come, in time.” He flipped through a few more pages, then checked his watch. “Let’s talk about your home. It says here you’re from Brooklyn, but I’m talking about your real home.”

“What the hell?” Steve said, watching Bucky become more uncomfortable. He shook Tony off and stepped closer to the TV. 

“What’s going on?” asked Tony. Steve shook his head, turning to where Sharon and Sam watched from the edge of the control center. She glanced at Steve and then pointed at the screen. 

“I don’t know,” said Steve. Bucky strained against his restraints as the interviewer rose from his seat and began to walk toward the box Bucky was being kept in. 

“I mean Russia, 1945. You were only twenty-eight? When you fell from a train and landed in the river bed, nearly dead.” 

“Stop,” said Bucky desperately, his voice hoarse. “Stop.” 

“What would you say if I said-” the man’s voice was cut off as the lights in the building went out, every electronic dead. Steve heard the click of the door unbolting, and turned to Tony, who looked at him with wide eyes. 

“What the fuck is happening?” asked Tony. Steve saw Sharon unlocking Sam’s handcuffs, and rushed to the door, only to be stopped by Tony’s small stature. 

“I’m bigger than you Tony, move,” Steve said, trying to move past him. Tony shook his head. “Move! Now!” 

“No,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I won’t let you do this to yourself.” 

“Have it your way,” Steve said, looping his arms over Tony and pulling him in a half circle, so his own back was against the door. He held tight, looking into Tony’s eyes. “I love you, but I have to do something.” He pressed a kiss to Tony’s forehead, feeling his throat tighten in panic as he released him and shoved him across the room, pulling the door open and closed quickly. Sharon was waiting for him with the fob for his cuffs in her hand. 

“He’s being held in the sub-basement. Take the stairs all the way at the end of the hall. I’ll stall for you, but you have to move quickly,” Sharon said, shoving him. He ran as fast as he could, slamming into the door at the end of the hall and taking the stairs three at a time. Sam was a flight ahead of him. 

“Sam!” Steve called. He vaulted himself over the banister of the stairs and landed in front of Sam, immediately turning to continue to run down the stairs. Sam panted in his wake, skipping as many steps as he could. 

“What are we going to do when we get down there?” asked Sam, peering over the banister to the remaining floors. 

“I don’t know,” Steve said, and he vaulted himself over the banister once more, falling between the stairs and landing at the bottom heavily, a groan escaping him as he misstepped and fell over. 

“For fucks sake,” Sam said, heaving a deep breath and continuing to run. “I’m not a super soldier, Rogers! I can’t do that!” 

“Well,” Steve yelled back to him. “Just keep running. If anyone comes your way, try to stop them but, uh… don’t die.” Steve yanked the door to the sub-basement open and stepped through. Everywhere he looked he was met by bodies, either unconscious or dead, he couldn’t tell. Stepping over them, he made his way slowly and carefully into the holding cell, where the box Bucky was being kept in was empty, and the man who interviewed him lay on the floor, moaning in pain. 

“Help me, please, he attacked me!” Steve looked at him, then to the pile of documents strewn across the room. The man held a leather bound, red journal in his hand with a white star on the front. 

“Where is he?” asked Steve, ignoring his cries for help. 

“He attacked me and ran, I don’t know, please,” he replied. Steve leaned over and gripped him by the lapels, swinging him up to look him in the eye. 

“What did you do to him?” Steve demanded, his tone calloused and cold. The man smirked. 

“Nothing that hadn’t already been done,” he replied, glancing down at the book still clutched between him. Steve dropped him and backed up, letting him fall with a loud groan onto the floor. A shoe squeaked from behind him and he swung around, meeting Bucky’s metal fist with an open hand, holding it back from his face. 

“Bucky, stop! It’s me!” he cried, releasing him to take a few steps back. Bucky continued forward, then paused, listening to Sam’s footsteps crashing down the metal stairs and turned, running in that direction. Steve took a deep breath and followed after him, steeling himself for the fight he knew was to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my tumblr [thedemonledger](thedemonledger.tumblr.com) for updates on stories, story blurbs, and peeks into future writing. Have a great day, see you back here tomorrow!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for the delay on the chapter - I ended up getting home much later than I thought I would... but, here it is, all fresh and ready and beautiful. Warning, it's a little bit sad.
> 
> **this is editing Liv: after rereading the chapter, I've since changed a little in the middle and the ending since originally posting it. You'll see why tomorrow when chapter 7 comes up. Big huge huge shout out to [glowingblueheart](https://glowingblueheart.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for being such an incredible new internet friend to bounce ideas off of. Please go show them some <3   
> okay bye xx

The half-destroyed commissary was nearly deserted, apart from those who remained after the fight had ended. T’Challa observed from the landing between two floors, Sharon nursed Natasha’s wounds against the far wall. Sam had taken chase after Bucky and Rhodey after Sam. Steve didn’t know where Ross and his team went – more than likely to watch cameras and try to intercept Bucky on his way out of Berlin. That just left Tony, standing across the room from him, one hand covered in a glove made from the same tech as his suit, the other carefully testing the skin around his black eye. Steve closed his eyes; he could hardly bear to look at Tony, and he could taste blood in his mouth. 

Tony watched as Steve lifted his hands to cover his face and laughed. “Are you ashamed? What’s going through that head of yours, Rogers?” Tony called, taking a few steps toward Steve. Rage bubbled in his chest, hot and full of regret. “Did you ever stop to think about how selfish you were being?” Tony continued to walk forward, ignoring his bodies protests. His eye was half swollen shut, his knees ached, and he was sure to have bruises covering him head to toe the next day. Still, he yanked the glove off his hand and shook his head. “You don’t get to be Mister Right and Good and Patriotic and still fall all over yourself when your best friend comes back from the dead as a fucking super weapon made by HYDRA. Act like an adult, Steve, not a– a– teenager in puppy-love!” 

Steve stayed still, his hands over his face as he shook all over from – what, Tony didn’t know. Something about his unresponsive nature made Tony angrier. He shouted, a gutteral noise, and kicked over a table in his anger. “You can’t just do whatever you want anymore. People died because of him, and you fucking know it, so don’t lie and say-” 

“It wasn’t him, Tony! God, do you ever listen to anyone but yourself?” Steve finally said, and when he pulled his hands away, Tony could see the blood in his mouth and the bruises forming on his neck and jaw. “I don’t work for you and you can’t just- you can’t expect that just because you’re my partner you can tell me what to do and when to do it.” He spit red onto the tiled floor, watching with rage in his face as Tony stepped back, confused and shocked. Rhodey ran from the doorway between them, his eyes scanning left and right, between the two men who faced each other. The tension in the room was palpable, so think it felt like it might split the ground between them. 

“You know what’s funny, too? I don’t care who bombed the International Center. He needs to pay for the things he _has_ done,” Tony said, riling himself back up. “You don’t have any proof other than his word, Steve, and you know that’s worthless!” 

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair– you don’t know anything about him!” He extended a finger – there was a loud sound from outside which covered over the sounds of Steve’s heavy, angry breathing, and screaming. Rhodey glanced over his shoulder, but seemed trapped in watching them. He strode forward, and when they met, his finger stayed firmly against Tony’s sternum. 

“Steve, you don’t know him either! He’s barely there, just a machine for an extinct entity,” Tony said, staring up into the blue-green of Steve’s eyes, which were glazing with tears. 

“You’re supposed to support me,” Steve whispered as those tears spilled over the edge. 

“No. You’re a part of a team. _You_ are supposed to support all of _us_ ,” Tony replied. 

“I was talking about you and I,” Steve clarified, his tone low enough that only Tony could hear him, but Tony shook his head and narrowed his eyes. 

“If you keep acting like this, there won’t be a _you and I_ anymore,” Tony stated. His tone was so matter of fact it made Steve gasp and drop his hand. He stepped back a foot, looking at Tony as if he didn’t know him. There was a moment of hurt, brutal and unyielding, before it gave way to rage. Steve sighed, and without hesitating, punched Tony straight in the jaw. Tony fell backwards with a groan, one hand on his jaw. His other hand helped him sit up from the cold linoleum tiles. He watched Steve with an expression caught somewhere between fear and disgust. 

“I trusted you to understand,” Steve started, his breath hitching in his chest as he fought back another wave of tears. His emotions were catching up to him, despite everything he’d taught himself, all the breathing and the numbing and the pushing down. “I believed in you, I relied on _you_!” His voice raised, even though Steve so rarely yelled. “Everything I told you– my fears, my worries, and as soon as you made this–” Steve gestured around wildly, his hands in the air, “your priority, I felt like it had really all been for nothing, All these months I’ve spent–” he glanced around, at Rhodey and Nat and Sharon and decided it was time for the truth, “loving you, and you can’t, for even a glimmer of a second, understand what I’m trying to do?” 

Tony shook his head and tried to sit up a little more. A wave of guilt pulled over Steve, but he ignored it, stepping back a few more steps. “This is about their safety, Steve, not ours or yours or his–” Steve laughed. 

“You’re one to talk about safety! Tony, you want someone to control you so you don’t make the same mistakes twice, because just like we saw with Vision, you don’t fucking learn!” 

“Fuck you!” Tony yelled, finally getting to his feet. “Vision is nothing like Ultron! And my mistakes are not like yours – I’m not protecting a killer!” Steve glared at him, a look of complete incredulity taking over his expression. 

“God, you just don’t get it do you?” Steve stepped forward again, so he was nearly nose to nose with Tony. Tony’s eyes were icy, and even as he took it in, something that should have been so familiar, he didn’t recognize the person he was looking back at. “I want you to stay away from me. Because whatever this was…” Steve glanced away. “It stopped working.” He closed his eyes and turned on his heel and ran out the door, following the way Sam had gone. Tony started forward, his brow furrowing sharply, but Rhodey stepped toward him, his arms outstretched to stop him. 

“Let go of me Rhodes,” Tony said, shaking him off. As he tried to move again, Rhodey’s hand came to grip his shoulder. “I said let me go! I have to go after him, I have to stop him– he needs– I–” Everything leaving Tony’s mouth became jumbled as tears started to flow in earnest. “I can’t just let him leave, he can’t just leave me– this isn’t right– I didn’t mean–”

“Tony, stop!” Rhodey said as he grabbed Tony by the shoulders and shook gently. Tony twisted and yanked, but the other held fast. “He’s gone, Stark.” 

“He can’t be!” Tony said, his voice breaking. “We can work this out. We’ve gotta work this out. You’re wrong,” his nose was running and tears were streaming, “if I can just go after him– explain–” 

“Tony,” Rhodes shook his head. “You can’t, not right now. We’ll find him, but going after him will just get you both arrested.” He watched Tony’s face fall, and the internal struggle between what he wanted to do and what he’d been told to do. “Some things only time can heal.” Tony broke, wet sobs emptying from his chest. He sank to the floor, breathing labored and throat tight, and he couldn’t think except to want Steve back in his arms one last time.

#

Steve emerged from the river a few hundred feet away from the JCTC. He could hear people yelling, and knew any minute there would be choppers ahead, but turned and continued to swim downstream, to the point where he hoped Sam would be. The water was cool, and calmed his frayed nerves and frazzled sense of self. He’d made a promise to Bucky years ago, the same promise Buck had made to him, that they’d be with each other until the end of the line. Steve had felt such tremendous guilt watching his best friend fall to his death, that seeing him back had stirred something within him that he hadn’t felt in so many long years. 

And to hear Bucky say he remembered… well… Steve continued to swim through the water toward the treeline at the edge of the compound, still thinking hard. If he were to save Bucky – really save him – he would have to make sacrifices. And he was so mad at Tony for the words he said and how easy it seemed for him to say them. But still, the guilt pulled at his chest as he heaved himself out of the water, settling onto the grassy embankment and trying to keep low. It wasn't over – he knew that, even as angry as he was; it was space and time and a sacrifice. And hopefully, hopefully, not the series of stupid, childish mistakes he felt like he was making over and over. 

“Good, you’re here,” said a voice from behind him. Steve turned in surprise, only to see Sam crouched down beside him, trying and failing to support the frame of a very unconscious Bucky. He glanced back at the JCTC, where a few folks stood around the entrance to the water, peering into it, and up at the helipad; a helicopter, obviously exploded, lay in pieces around the water.

“What did you do to him?” asked Steve in shock, taking Bucky from him and trying to get a good look at his face; blood matted the side of his head and he was covered in dirt, grime, and smoke, but when he checked his pulse at his neck, it seemed strong, which was a relief. 

“Well, he tried to steal a helicopter and I might have, maybe, found one of my magnetic grenades and thrown it at the helicopter, which then blew up just a little bit, throwing him into the water,” said Sam quickly. “I jumped in and grabbed him and dragged him to shore. I checked his vitals already, and he’s fine, just a little shell-shocked I think.” 

“What about you?” Steve moved toward him while throwing Bucky unceremoniously over his shoulder. 

“Just a couple bruises and scratches and definitely some whiplash from the bomb going off. Other than that I just want to get away from here and somewhere where he can’t use that arm again. Shit hurts.” Steve nodded and looked around; there was street parking here. He gestured for Sam to take Bucky and walked over to the cars parked against the sidewalk. Steve had to try four handles before he found a door that was unlocked, and slid surreptitiously in. Checking the side-view mirror to make sure no passerby’s would see him, he yanked the bottom panel to the steering wheel off and began attempting to hotwire the car. He jerked his head, signalling for Sam to get in with Bucky, and in less than a minute the car was purring gently. 

“Where did you learn to hotwire a car?” asked Sam incredulously. 

“World War Two,” replied Steve with an air of amusement. He shut the door and pulled onto the street. “I think the safest place right now is somewhere abandoned and potentially industrial,” Steve reasoned. Sam nodded. 

“I would navigate, but I don’t have a phone, and even if I did, I just jumped into a river to save psycho killer back there,” Sam said. Bucky groaned as they went over a bump in the road, and Steve glanced at him in the rearview; he looked, even unconscious, dazed and exhausted. He knew the smarter thing would have been to stick around, arrest whoever it was that was in the basement and try to reason with Everett Ross while Sam got Bucky back, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was supposed to be with Buck, wherever he went. Just another reason to think of he and Tony as over. It was easy, in his anger, to forget that less than a week ago they were admitting that they loved each other. 

Now it felt like nothing could be farther from the truth. 

They drove through Berlin for fifteen minutes before they finally found a part of the city that looked worse for wear. About five minutes after that, they were in an abandoned factory, and together they put Bucky’s metal arm into an industrial vice grip and closed it tight. 

“What now then?” asked Sam, looking worried. “We, what, just wait for him to wake up?” 

“I can wait if you want to sit in the car or something. We’re gonna need a phone soon,” Steve offered. 

“Well, it’s not like I can very well just walk out into town and grab a phone from the nearest convenience store,” Sam commented as Steve, with a low groan, slid down the wall opposite Bucky. Steve gave him a curious look and shook his head. “Look, I don’t speak German, and I don’t have any euros on me.” 

Steve glanced at him. “Go wait in the car then. If you want to turn it off, all you have to do is disconnect the wires under the dash.” Sam nodded. 

“I feel bad just leaving you here with him. What if he wakes up and goes all feral on you again?” Sam asked, looking concerned. 

“Honestly, Sam, I think I can handle myself,” Steve said, shooing him away with a wave of his hand. “Please, I just need a second alone with him.” Sam nodded and finally conceded, walking out of the warehouse and around the corner, where the parked car was still idling. 

Steve watched him, still unconscious, bruised and exhausted looking, and his steady breathing brought him comfort. Watching Bucky made him remember being young and curious, and tasting cherry soda on his lips when it was brought back after the worst of the rationing. It was hot summers and cold winters, and his parents dying and sleeping on Buck’s floor and then in his bed, sheets sticky with sweat as they figured out what it meant to be in love. Even as a secret, Bucky still felt like home. 

Bucky groaned, drawing Steve out of his thoughts, and even though he wanted to crawl forward and take his face in his hands, Steve knew the safest thing was to make sure that it was him, and not the Winter Soldier first. 

“Bucky?” asked Steve cautiously. Bucky lifted his head, then glanced at his arm in the vice. 

“You know, I still have a shoulder, and this feels really terrible,” Bucky commented, pointing at his arm. 

“What do you remember?” Steve questioned, ignoring him. 

“That your moms name is Sarah,” he said slowly, “and you used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” Steve laughed, listening to the sounds from outside. Helicopters were making their rounds – Steve could only hope that Sam was smart enough to stay in the car. The sun was starting to set over Berlin, which could cloak them more than hats and cars. 

“That’s sweet,” he said, standing. “But it’s not really what I meant.” He unwound the vice enough for Bucky to pull his arm out, then couched in front of where he sat. He could tell Bucky was in pain, and from the look of his bruises, he could tell it was bad. 

“What did I do?” he asked, looking at Steve desperately. Steve shook his head and reached forward; Bucky’s hand was tight around his in a second. 

“I… a lot, Buck.” Steve reached forward, pushing the hair back from Bucky’s eyes, and as he did so, the brunet leaned into his touch. His eyes were closed and his face looked anguished. 

“Something like this was bound to happen. Just because HYDRA fell apart doesn’t mean it’s gone- I wish I could tell you more, but all I know is that he used these words and then everything else disappeared and then I was just–” Steve cut him off with his lips, and Bucky pulled him in tight, kissing him with a fervor Steve didn’t know he had. When the moan escaped Bucky, Steve pulled away, breathing heavily. 

“I thought,” Bucky started, his breath coming is soft, sharp gusts, “you were with someone.” 

“I was,” Steve replied, his eyes roving Bucky’s face, as if memorizing it. “Past tense.” He leaned forward again, and Bucky pulled on him, on his shirt and skin and hair, drawing Steve into his lap as the blond kissed him, more gently this time. He could taste blood in his mouth, and Bucky hissed as Steve gently pushed his hair away from the wound on Bucky's temple. It wasn’t deep, but as Steve pulled away to examine it, he noted that it looked painful. 

“We should get you someplace safe, where you can clean up and we can talk more,” Steve said, his hands roving down to Bucky’s impressive shoulders. His metal arm shifted under Steve’s fingers, and he smiled. 

“Whatever you say, Cap,” Bucky replied, releasing him so Steve could move off his lap and help him stand. Bucky was still wobbly, and so Steve slung one of his arms over his shoulder and half carried, half walked him out to the car. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, he hurried him to the back passenger side and helped him in, stepping into the seat in front of him. 

“I found twenty euros in the glove box,” Sam said, flashing the money at him. “And also a phone.” He tossed the phone into Steve’s lap, who picked it up and turned it over. 

“What luck,” Bucky commented from the back. 

“I wouldn’t say it’s luck,” Sam replied, pulling out into the road. “Some people are just stupid.” Steve started dialing a number, unsure if he would get an answer. It rang a few times before, finally:

“This is Agent Carter,” said Sharon brusquely. 

“Sharon, it’s Steve,” Steve said. He heard her breath catch, and she coughed to cover her surprise. 

“Oh, hey mom,” she replied, voice shaking. Her voice became muffled as she spoke again. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Sharon, listen, we just need a safe place to stay so we can get washed up and then figure out where to go from there, can you help us?” Steve asked, watching as Sam drove down less busy, residential streets back toward the urban center of town. 

“Sure, let me send you that recipe…” she said, trailing off. Her voice was breathy, and he could tell she was hurrying somewhere. “And you’ll need to go to the bakery off Tenth, it’s only good with fresh bread.” 

“Thank you,” Steve said, “we owe you.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll be home at like, eight on Thursday.” He heard a door buzz open, and then another one. Steve glanced at the clock. It was seven forty-five. 

“There’s a bakery on tenth street, we need to be there in fifteen minutes,” he muttered to Sam. 

“Okay, that’s not helpful, I’ve only been to Berlin twice and it was with guides or the military, so you’ve gotta give me more than that,” Sam said, glancing at him. Steve shook his head. 

“Gotta go,” he said into the phone. 

“Okay, bye!” Sharon replied. He heard a car door slam shut and then the line went dead. He pulled the phone from his face and tried to navigate the phone, but it was all in German. Finally, he found a map icon and pressed it, typing in ‘tenth street bakery’. The closest one to the JCTC was nine miles north. 

“I’ve got the one, I think. It’s north, so turn left as soon as you can and keep going straight,” Steve said. He glanced over his shoulder at Bucky, who wiggled his fingers between Steve’s seat and the car door to play with the hem of his shirt. Steve sighed and continued directing Sam until they got to the bakery and pulled over. He glanced at Steve, then down at the wires still coiled together between his legs. 

"Leave it," Steve whispered, his chest tight with anxiety. The minutes crawled by, eight o'clock becoming eight-ten, then eight-fifteen. His heart leapt into his chest as a car turned the corner, its lights flashing across the mirrors and back windshield. It crawled to a stop beside them and Steve kept his head straight, but glanced out of his window; Sharon. She tipped her head and pulled away, and they moved out to follow her. Steve glanced over his shoulder at Bucky, and guilt coiled hot in his chest as he thought about all the promises he'd, and all the apologies he'd have to make if he ever, ever wanted to get Tony back. A vicious battle waged inside his head as the trio moved silently through the night, one of memories of the past and feelings of the present. The anger with Tony had long since faded and now all he wanted was peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my tumblr [thedemonledger](https://thedemonledger.tumblr.com/) for updates on stories, story blurbs, and peeks into future writing. Have a great day, see you back here tomorrow!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi,  
> I wanted to shoot straight with you, my wonderful readers, about the way this story is going to progress. As of last night, I was very unhappy with the results of chapter six, but I posted it anyway, against my better judgement, to fulfill the promise of daily posts. That was a mistake. I swear to you to never post anything I'm not _one hundred percent_ satisfied with from now on.  
> That being said, by the power of tumblr, caffeine, and you - my wonderful readership - I have some rewrites in mind that may postpone posting. I know you wouldn't notice if I didn't say anything, but like I said - I'm shootin' straight. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm much more satisfied with it now than I was about 12 hours ago. xx - Liv

[Earlier]

Nat and Tony sat against the wall together, her head on his shoulder, the cold tile beneath them grounding. Tony’s face was streaked with tears, the kind that fell so thick and fast that they weren’t worth trying to wipe away until they were over. Now that they had dried against his skin, he felt tense and uncomfortable, his face tight and hot. Everything within him ached, but especially his heart. Why would he say those things to Steve? Angry and betrayed as he felt, they were words and exclamations that were so far from the truth; reactions to actions that hurt him, even if he didn’t know why. He knew it was never Steve’s _intention_ , but that wasn’t the point. 

And Steve… did he mean it when he said they didn’t work anymore? Tony’s hand – the one that wasn’t held firmly in Natasha’s – came up to brush the wild bruise on his jaw, and Tony felt like a teenager again. So cruel and indifferent to his lover’s pain in the moment, only regretful and guilty when it was too late. 

Natasha shifted and pulled her hand from his, wiping her clammy palm on her linen slacks. She eyed tony suspiciously, but softened when his eyes met hers. They watched each other for a while without speaking, and eventually Natasha pressed her back against the wall again, letting her gaze fall forward. 

“Let me tell you a story,” she said, replacing her head on his shoulder, interlacing her fingers back between his. 

“Is it full of morals and justice and proof that love conquers all?” Tony asked cynically. Natasha snorted. 

“No,” she replied. “It’s about the Red Room.” She cleared her throat. “But if you need a point to hang onto it might help you understand Barnes a little better.” 

Tony stiffened, but nodded, and tried to focus on the feeling of Natasha’s fingers shifting in between his as she thought. 

“It’s… Tony, it’s not like anything you would ever know,” she began, her voice already thick with emotion. “They don’t just train spies there. No, they train killers – cold-blooded, ruthless, and hungry. And you don’t think they’re evil because they make you believe you can _do_ anything, _become_ anyone. Most of the time, they’re right. Then they give you – sell you – to the highest bidder. The KGB, HYDRA, S.H.I.E.L.D.; they’re all the same. You leave bodies behind you, always. 

“They talked about the Ghosts of Siberia there sometimes, and if I could, I’d listen, but it wasn’t until last year that I began to understand what it all meant.” She trailed off; after a few long, slow breaths, she chuckled and shifted. “But, the story…

“Picture it,” she began quietly. “I’m sixteen, about to graduate, which has meanings I could never have comprehended in that moment, and I’m so tired. I’ve been so thoroughly beaten down, belittled and tormented, I would have done anything just to see the world outside of this lie I’d been living in.” She paused again and sighed, but still she didn’t move from where she sat against Tony. “So when they hand me a gun and tell me that after this one test I can graduate, I don’t hesitate,” she continued. Then, she moved suddenly, so she faced him and Tony could see the tears in her eyes, “and then there’s a man with a black back over his head when I turn, and he’s screaming ‘pozhaluysta, ne ubivay menya’ and–” Natasha released the breath she was holding, and so did Tony, gasping out a lungful of air he hadn’t realized he’d been keeping in. 

“That was a choice I made on my own, Tony, without brainwashing,” she murmured. 

“You were a child,” Tony said, “and there was brainwashing – plenty of it, you wouldn’t have even realized until–” 

“But here’s what you don’t understand,” Nat cut across. “I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway. I don’t think… I don’t think Barnes has ever had that choice.” Guilt his Tony squarely in the chest – the guilt of not knowing Natasha like he’d thought, the guilt of throwing judgment at a man he knew nothing about – but most of all, the guilt of not asking, when she’d been right there all along. Natasha cleared her throat, drawing Tony out of his thoughts. “You know, I only heard rumors about them, the ghosts. Some of my mentors called them Wolf Spiders. I could only listen when I knew I wouldn’t get caught, but…” When she looked back at Tony from the wide windows at the end of the long hallway they sat together in, her face was a cool mask: calculated, unreadable. 

Dangerous. 

“If any of the rumors I heard were true, I lived in a playground compared to where he was.” Tony looked away, but nodded his comprehension. Nat leaned forward, gripping his hand even more tightly in her own. “I’m not mad at you. But sometimes your words can affect more than just the people you’re talking about.” 

Heels on the linoleum drew their attention, and they both looked up to see Agent Carter, sporting a split lip and a grimace. “Secretary Ross is here to speak with you,” she said without preamble. “Both of you.” 

#

Secretary Ross cleared his throat, then turned to look at Tony with an expression bordering on anger. He sat across from Tony and Natasha at the metal table in the holding room, the same room where Steve and Sam had been not twenty-four hours ago, before everything went to shit. He slid a manila folder across the table to them, stamped _CLASSIFIED_. He continued to stare until Natasha finally cleared her throat and gestured at the folder. 

“May we?” she asked, sliding it towards herself. Ross shrugged and leaned forward, his fingers lacing together. 

“That folder contains every crime committed by the Winter Soldier to date, now including the bombing at the International Center in Vienna,” Ross said, pointing at it. Tony glanced at the folder and away again, frowning. “And these,” Ross continued, pulling two more folders out of the briefcase on the table beside him and slapping them down on the table, “are the folders we have now on Wilson and Rogers. There are more here, things I have to take with me back to the Capital, so that we can keep an eye on your ‘Avengers’...” Tony flipped open Steve’s folder and was met by a few photos, some of him when he was enlisted, a few of his time in the USO, and ones more recent, taken from shadowy corners and security cameras. One even of he and Tony, leaning in close. It looked like they could be whispering, but Tony knew the next photo would be– 

“I’d like to know where you got these photos,” Tony said, pulling the two of he and Steve out from under the paperclip and shaking them in Ross’ direction. “I thought it wasn’t until recently that I agreed to sign away my right to privacy.” Ross glared at him. 

“Ever since we found out HYDRA had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. right under our noses, we’ve been keeping an eye on him, as well as Wilson, Agent Hill, Agent Fury, and you, Ms Romanov.” Tony glanced over at Nat, who seemed like she was doing math in her head. She looked up at both of them and closed the folder, keeping folded it under her hands. She nodded and shrugged. 

“That’s nothing new,” she replied honestly. “I grew up being observed, I think I can handle it for a little while longer.” Ross grunted and looked back at Tony. 

“Stark, what do you know about Rogers’ relationship with Barnes?” he asked sternly. Tony shook his head. 

“Just that they were childhood friends and that Barnes’ death hit him pretty hard,” Tony replied. This was mostly the truth. He was also suspicious that there was something more than friendship between them – no one, not even Captain fucking America popped out of a nearly seventy year long stint in the ice able to do the things he could with his mouth. In between his thoughts of Steve, Ross had said something that didn’t register. He raised an eyebrow. “Can you repeat that, please?” 

“I asked if you had any understanding of why Barnes would be so important to him outside of that tiny window,” Ross repeated impatiently. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s _tiny_ ,” Natasha interjected, sounding annoyed. “They knew each other for almost fifteen years before Barnes died.” Tony glanced at her, his nostrils flaring in frustration. 

“To answer your question, Mr Secretary, no, I don’t believe there is a bigger picture in why Barnes is so important to Steve,” Tony cut across, pushing the folders back toward Ross and pocketing the photos of him and Steve. 

“Those are evidence, Stark,” Ross argued. 

“No, their a violation of my privacy, since they were taken of the inside of my hotel room,” Tony said. “Now, I can get all three men back to you if you give me some time – seventy-two hours, I swear.” 

“Absolutely not. You obviously can’t be trusted to keep a clear head,” he said, pointing at where the photos disappeared into Tony’s jacket. “We’re sending in special ops.” 

“And what, push comes to shove and you kill America’s favorite hero?” asked Natasha, her voice tight and tone filled with disgust. 

“If we must, we will. He’s a wanted criminal now, Ms Romanov, which I’m sure you’re all too familiar with,” Ross replied smoothly. Nat opened her mouth to speak, an angry blush spreading up her cheeks, but Steve cut across her. 

“Sir, I assure you I have every ability to keep it together for this. And, if I’m being totally honest, we may have a better chance of bringing them in with less casualties if you let us handle this.” He glanced at Natasha, who avoided his gaze and slid the folder she still held under her clasped hands back across the table. Ross sighed, hung his head; when he looked back up at Tony, it was with a defeated sort of grimace. 

“As much as I hate to admit it,” he muttered, gathering up his folders and stowing them back in his briefcase, “I think you’re right.” Tony felt a hint of surprise at the quickness of Ross’ defeat, though the mention of further deaths may have been what pushed him over the edge. Ross stood, collected the coat from the back of his chair, and rapped on the glass of the room. A young man with a large gun strapped to his back stepped up and fished out his badge, buzzing the door open Ross stepped out and the soldier waved at Tony and Natasha, speaking in rapid German.

“He wants us to leave now,” Natasha whispered. She stood and dragged Tony up with her. 

“Alright,” Tony said, extending his hands in surrender. “I’ve got it, I’m going.” Ross paused, waiting for them to exit the glass room. Tony turned to face him and extended a handshake in farewell. 

“You have thirty-six hours, Stark,” said Ross, shaking his hand once. “I want all three of them back here, alive and in cuffs.” He turned to leave, but shouted over his shoulder once closer to the door. “Thirty-six hours, I mean it!” 

“Loud and clear, sir,” Tony called back, his face flushed in frustration. “Thirty-six hours,” he muttered to Natasha, who scoffed in response. 

“What’s our plan, Tony?” she asked quietly. He shook his head and turned toward the wall of screens behind him. He didn’t have one, was relying on more than a day and a half to come up with one. 

“I just want to figure out where they’re going,” Tony pondered aloud. “Are they running, or looking for something…” He scanned the screens with a clinical analysis, watching them change angle, camera, direction every few seconds. They were all centered on major airports, even though it seemed ridiculous to Tony that Steve would be so stupid as to try to even go into an airport with them looking for him as vapidly as they were. He watched the German airport feeds for a few minutes, and noted some of the names of the feeds: Frankfurt, Munic, Düsseldorf, Leipzig/Halle, Berlin-Tegel… and carefully checked each frame for something useful, but it was all runways and car parks and air busses. Finally, while staring at the name of the Leipzig airport, trying to figure out why it sounded so familiar, he saw it. The quinjet, parked in a rain shelter, two hours southwest of where they were now where Tony thought it would be safest. Still, that had to be it; even if he didn’t know how they would know, he knew Steve well enough and knew that he was smart enough to figure it out eventually. 

“You know,” he said, turning on his heel to face Natasha again. “We could really use a Hulk right now. Any chance?” Nat smiled softly. 

“No,” she said sadly, “plus, I think Steve was right. Even if he were here, he’d be on the other side of this fight.” Tony nodded and began to walk quickly past her, to the buildings exit. “Where are you going?” she called, chasing a little ways after him. He turned, continuing to walk backwards, and pointed at her. 

“You get some folks together, whoever you can. I’ve gotta run to New York really fast,” Tony faced back toward the door just in time to push it open and pass through, and began jogging to one of the many chauffeured cars. The sun was beginning to set over Germany, rays of gold shooting through the hazy clouds. 

#

[Present]

Sharon pulled into the underpass and parked, stepping out of her car. Sam put to stolen car into park and jerked his chin. 

“You should go talk to her,” Sam said. Steve glanced back at Bucky, who nodded seriously. “We’ll be here.” Steve sighed and unhitched his seatbelt, climbing out without shutting the door behind him. The gravel crunched under his feet as he made his way over to Sharon. She leant over her front seat, pulling at a lever that opened the back hatch of the car. When she turned, she nearly walked into him, catching herself as she stumbled to a stop. 

“Shit, sorry,” she whispered, stepping back and glancing up at him awkwardly. He sniffed and took one of her hands in his. 

“How can I ever repay you for this, Sharon?” he asked, his face concerned. She shook her head. 

“You can’t,” she insisted, pulling her hand from his grasp. “And you know what? Not everything needs to be repaid, Steve.” She walked around him to the popped truck and held it open, waving him over. “These are yours, I think,” Sharon said with a wink; in her trunk was a crate with his shield and suit, Sam’s wings, and something else that looked like a bundle of fabric. She leaned forward, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I don’t know what’s going on with you or why you feel so passionate about this, but… After watching you without being able to say anything for so long, I got to know you and when you believe in something, I–” she broke off, and when Steve looked back at her, he caught tears welling in her eyes before she had a chance to look away. “My aunt always talked about you like you could do no wrong, and I don’t believe that’s true, you’re still human. But I think you have a good heart, and that’s more important anyway.” She kicked a little gravel away from her, then exclaimed in surprise as Steve wrapped his arms around her small frame. 

“Thank you, Sharon,” Steve whispered into her hair. When he released her, she sniffed and wiped her face with the edge of her sleeve, then heaved the crate from the boot of her car and handed it to him. 

“If I get fired, at least make it worth the effort,” she teased. He nodded, laughed and tipped his head, then hastily walked to the car; when he glanced back, Sharon had turned around and was driving past them. She waved as she went, smiled a little sadly, and drove away. He watched until her car had rounded the corner and was out of sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy what you read here and want to read more, follow me on tumblr [thedemonledger](https://thedemonledger.tumblr.com/) or subscribe to me here. 
> 
> I'm looking for a beta! Someone to read my work, bounce ideas around with me, and possibly do some very minor editing, sentence structure stuff. If you're interested in betaing for this or any other story, go ahead and shoot me a message on tumblr, or leave a comment at the end of this chapter. I write for The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, MCU, Spider-Man, The Adventure Zone, and a few other basic fandoms. 
> 
> See you in a few days with chapter 8! xx - Liv


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